With Great Power
by the-effin-mitchell
Summary: "You're incredibly fast, impossibly strong. I know what you are, Beca Mitchell." A raised eyebrow, a questioning stare, "And what do you say I am?" She grins knowingly, "A vampire." There's a long, suffering pause, followed by an indignant cry of, "What the fuck, Chloe! This isn't Twilight!" Spidey!Beca, set in Pitch Perfect with elements of the Spiderman/Marvel universe thrown in.
1. Along Came a Spider

***ORIGINALLY TITLED: The Spider Chronicles**

 **A/N: Hello! New to the fandom, and wanted to make my own little contribution to the wonders of Bechloe. I've become _slightly_ obsessed with Spider!Beca stories, and figured I'd try my hand at it. Although I love me some Peter Parker, his origin story has been used enough, and I wanted to give some love to a certain _other_ Parker - his lovely daughter Mayday. My knowledge of the Spiderman universe is pretty limited, but I won't be delving too deeply into it; more like borrowing a few aspects from the comics/movies here or there, and tying it into Pitch Perfect to make a semi-original story line. Consider this version... Earth-P. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Along Came a Spider**

' _Just keep running. Just keep running. Just keep running.'_

Like a broken record, the words play through her head; on and on they go, a mantra pleading for sanity in an otherwise insane situation. Chloe can taste blood on her lips, dirt too, but the metallic tang that fills her mouth is far more concerning than the gritty, bland mixture of sand and soil. Her legs churn, feet slipping along cold concrete and wet streets, gasping for air with every shuddering breath.

She can feel her heart beat frantically beneath her breast, thrashing against its bone prison, as if to break free of her ribs and leave her behind. Chloe's lungs burn, screaming for more oxygen that she just can't provide; she tries anyway - _inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale_. She takes massive gulps of air, swallowing them down her raw, and aching throat; she can't let it get to her, can't let the pain win out. She's lucky Aubrey is such a perfectionist, and for what must be the first time ever, she's actually _grateful_ for the strict regimen of cardio that the blonde had forced upon her in preparation for their upcoming reign of the Barden Bellas.

Chloe had always been an advocate for good physical health, and while her own fitness is nothing to laugh at, she's certain that, if not for the mandatory training sessions, she'd be long gone by now. Still, running laps around the school stadium is a far cry from running for one's life, and while she's kept a steady pace, she can feel herself slowing down. Against her better judgement, she tilts her head, glancing backwards over her shoulder to peek at her pursuers.

And that's when she falls.

She cries loudly as she trips over a crevice in the pavement, arms thrown out as she braces for impact; her palms collide hard with the ground, followed by her knees and then the rest of her body. There's a sickening crack, and angry, red hot pain lances through her, radiating from her wrist to elbow, and then all the way up to her shoulder. Tears spring to her eyes, arm instinctively cradled against her chest as she flips onto her behind, feet kicking at the floor in a desperate attempt to create more space between her and her followers.

Alas, it's to no avail; what distance she had initially created is quickly bridged, the heavy thud of her stalkers' footprints echoing through the darkened city streets as the gap between them closes; louder and louder they get, like a horde of rampaging elephants, and soon she knows she'll be surrounded.

Reaching for her purse, she flings it into the nearest man's chest, begging, "Please, take it! Just take it! It's all that I have!"

"Sweetie," he leers, shoving the bag into his friend's hands, "It ain't your _money_ that I want."

His words are accompanied by the twisting of her gut, stomach churning at the way he stares - the way they _all_ stare - as if she's nothing more than a piece of meat to be devoured. It's disgusting, and if she weren't so scared and so utterly, utterly _alone_ , she might have said something; might have told them off for objectifying her, for degrading her self-worth as a _fucking human being_.

Chloe wants to fight, wants to show them that she isn't some weak, helpless girl - and it's not as if she doesn't know how to. Self-defense classes had been part of the arrangement she'd made with her parents for allowing her to attend college out of state, and she'd always been a quick study. The body is a series of weak points - throat, elbows, knees, ankles - and she knows, _she knows_ , that if she can hit them just right, he'll fall like a stack of bricks.

But he's more than just one man - four of them by her count - and even if she were to get the drop on _him_ , there'd be three more waiting. It's bad enough that her wrist is broken - or, at the very least, badly sprained - but even in peak condition, she doubts that one summer of training is enough to get her through the real deal.

In other words… she's _screwed_.

"It'll be fun," the man promises, as if sensing her impending surrender. "I'll make you feel _real_ good, babe. You'll love it…"

Just as she's getting ready to accept her fate, Chloe's salvation comes in the form of a small, black and blue blur; it flies out of nowhere, barreling straight into her main assailant with violent precision. With a bellow of shock, he's thrown cleanly off his feet, crashing into a dumpster where his head smashes against it with a resounding 'clang!' He slides to the floor in a silent heap, and doesn't get back up.

The ensuing chaos is just that: chaos. Her savior - another woman, by the looks of it - drops low, dodging a retaliatory blow, and uses the man's own momentum to throw him over her shoulder and into the cold, hard ground. His grunt of pain is immediately silenced with a swift kick to the head, sending him straight into the realm of unconsciousness. The two that remain share a conspiratorial glance and leap to attack, one from either side; despite the unfair advantage, she seems relatively unfazed, even going so far as to shove her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

She ducks and weaves, expertly evading their wild swings like it's nothing more than a game of tag, all the while spewing snarky little comments every chance she can get.

"What's the matter, boys?" she teases, dancing around a left hook as she slips past their defenses, stomping a foot onto the back of one thug's calf. "Aren't you having _fun_?" she asks, reiterating the words of the first man to fall.

"You watch your mouth, bitch!" one of them snarls, attempting a jab, which she just as easily avoids.

"Or what? _You'll make me?_ " is her sarcastic retort, before she pulls her hands back out of her pockets. In a flash, she's upon him, mounting the offensive as she takes a flying leap and sinks her fist into his pudgy face. There's a thundering crack as it makes impact, the sound of bone on bone echoing through the darkened streets; he's knocked back a good four or five feet before he goes tumbling to the floor like a stack of jenga bricks, face first into a pile of garbage.

"Looks like I didn't need to go very far to put him in his place," she scoffs, turning her sights on the last man standing. She regards him with an air of cool indifference, staring unflinchingly, even as he whips a blade from his belt and brandishes it at her. Her head tilts as he jerks forward and then back, a scare tactic no doubt meant to catch her off guard. Instead, however, a single brow raises in question, followed by the release of a long, breathy sigh.

"Amateur," she mumbles, sounding exasperated. And then, in one fluid motion, she slaps the knife from his hand and snaps her elbow, digging it sharply into his sternum. He stumbles back, clutching his chest as pain blossoms throughout, and it's all the invitation she needs to finish him off. One, two, three punches, and he's out like a light, joining his friends on the floor.

"Too easy," the woman mumbles, shaking her head as she stares down at her handiwork. But then she perks up, as if suddenly realizing she's forgotten something, and spins around to find the redhead they'd been following still sitting on the ground, her eyes wide and mouth slack jawed. " _Shit_ , are you okay? Wait, sorry, stupid question! Of course you're not okay, who would be? Are you hurt? Are you bleeding? You're not gonna die on me, right? I mean, do I need to, like... take you to a hospital? Or… or, here, let me take a look at you real quick. I know first aid and… uhm…"

In the blink of an eye, she's by her side, and all Chloe can do is stare in awe as her mysterious protector dissolves into a rambling mess - a stark contrast to the calm and cool demeanor with which she had taken down her adversaries. ' _It's kind of cute,'_ she muses, and thinks that, if not for the situation, she might find herself giggling at the girl's obvious lack at social grace.

"Thank you," she interrupts, placing her uninjured hand over the other woman's. "You saved my life."

"O-oh, yeah. Totally, no problem," she replies, attempting to play it off cool, but Chloe can see the way her face glows with the start of a blush; can feel the miniscule twitch of a hand beneath her fingertips. She finds it rather endearing, to say the least. "What were you even doing out this late?" she goes on, "The city isn't exactly the safest place to go wandering around, especially at night and all on your own."

"I know, I _know_ ," Chloe sighs, her own cheeks heating with shame. "I was out at the club with some friends and needed to leave early. I live just off campus, near Barden University, and it's really only a fifteen minute walk away. I figured I could save myself the cab money, and I needed a bit of fresh air anyway… but somewhere along the way, I must have taken a wrong turn and ended up in a different part of town. These goons here tried to jump me, and… well, I think you can figure out the rest…"

The woman makes a noncommittal "ah" as she shucks off her jacket and slips it around Chloe's shoulders, bundling her up in its warmth. "Well, I guess you're lucky that I showed up when I did then," she remarks, whipping out her phone. "Anyway, sit tight. I'm gonna call the cops to round up these idiots, and hopefully get you some medical attention too." As she talks, she paces back and forth between the fallen men, giving them each a kick here or there for good measure, and despite herself, Chloe can't help but let a small smile through.

"What's your name?" she asks, once the girl is finished explaining their situation to dispatch, and there's nothing left for them to do but wait it out.

"Huh?" The girl seems genuinely surprised to be asked, pointing a finger at herself, as if to ask 'who, me?' When Chloe nods, she laughs sheepishly and replies, "Oh, sorry. My mom always said that I was bad with manners. I'm-..."

* * *

"Beca. Beca Mitchell," she says, as she hands her ID over to the motel receptionist.

"Thank you," the man replies, flashing her a smile that is so obviously forced, it's almost painful (she's been there, she's worked retail - she knows a fake smile when she sees one). "Your reservation says you've booked a single for the weekend. Is that correct?" When she confirms the statement, he spends the next two minutes typing away at the computer, printing out her receipt and keying in a card for her room.

"Know of any places to eat around here that are still open?" she asks, as he passes Beca back her cards. She's just come off a five hour plane ride, and while peanuts and soda are fine, they are hardly substantial (nor healthy, though she doesn't particularly care about that one). After pointing her in the direction of a small, 24-hour diner just down the block, she thanks the man for his assistance and - with a strength that beguiles her stature - effortlessly carries her backpack, three suitcases, and a skateboard out of the lobby and towards her room.

"Home, sweet home," she jokes, throwing her suitcases in the closet. There's no point in unpacking - not when she's only there for three days - and so, after changing into clothes that _don't_ carry the stench and germs of a million other travelers, Beca slings her backpack over her shoulder and heads over to the diner.

When she arrives, she's greeted by an elderly waitress, who leads her to a table by the window. Scanning quickly through the menu, she rattles off an order for, "a double cheeseburger with bacon, a side of chili fries, a basket of hot wings, cherry coke, and a slice of mixed berry pie a la mode." So what if the woman looks at her like she's grown an extra head? It's the middle of the night, she hasn't eaten since noon, and she'll be damned if she doesn't eat what she wants, when she wants!

As she waits, Beca plays with her phone, attempting to ignore the grumbling of her stomach as it demands to be fed. Scrolling through her latest batch of texts, she can't help but roll her eyes at her father's most recent message, expressing his excitement to see her come Monday morning, and promising to pick her up from the airport if only she'd send him the time.

' _Sorry, dad,'_ she thinks, without so much as an ounce of remorse. ' _Guess I forgot to mention that I decided to fly in a few days early. Whoops.'_ It's not that Beca hates her father; she loves him - really, she does - but after having him walk out on her and her mother seven years ago, she can't find it within herself to feel anything more than general disdain for the man she once looked up to and adored. Additionally, after all but forcing her into attending college (a college he _taught at_ , no less), Beca's current opinion of him is at an all time low.

So no, she doesn't tell him she's already in town - doesn't even bother to respond out of basic courtesy - and instead deletes it from her inbox. ' _I'll see him when I see him,'_ she reasons, and that is enough for her.

Family drama aside, Beca wants to take a few days to learn the ins and out of the city - preferably on her own, and in the only way she knows that _she_ can. At the very least, she'll be here for a year, and while Barden lay on the outskirts of the city, she knows she'll be spending plenty of time in the hustle and bustle of downtown Atlanta. With that thought in mind, she resolves to take a quick tour of the streets after dinner (midnight snack, early breakfast, _whatever_ ), just to get a general feel of her surroundings.

Thankfully, her food arrives only a short while later, and she makes quick work of the meal in little to no time at all. She can't resist the semi-smug smirk from crossing her lips as the waitress returns to clear her table, pausing to glance frantically between Beca and her deceivingly empty pile of plates - as if she can't believe what her eyes are telling her. She leaves a generous tip for that look alone, and after slipping the straps of her bag over her shoulders, the soon to be student offers a friendly (if not half-hearted) wave to the staff as she leaves.

Letting out a content sigh, Beca searches for the nearest dark alley - of which there are plenty - and slips easily into its shadows. It's pitch black, and although her vision has gone dark, she is far from blind to any threats that may remain unseen. She likes to call it her 'seventh sense' because, while everyone seems to have some varying degree of spacial awareness - or a 'sixth sense' - Beca's level of perception is on a level all its own.

Safe in the knowledge that her only witness is a stray tabby cat and her kittens, Beca stares upwards, mentally calculating the height of the building. Four stories is hardly trying, and with a single bound, she finds herself atop the deserted roof. Removing her backpack, she sits on a random AC unit and scrounges around for her hooded jacket, bopping her head to a random tune as she finds it stuffed beneath her laptop.

A few good shakes and it's sufficiently wrinkle free; Beca slips into it one sleeve at a time and zips it three-quarters of the way up, before tying back her hair and throwing the hood over her head. Assured that her identity is now safe, she stands and stretches, working out the kinks in her knees and shoulders. Securing her backpack once more, Beca cracks her neck and sets her sights on the building across the street - one that is significantly higher than the one she stands on now.

Backpedalling a few feet, she takes a running start and leaps across the long stretch of road, landing vertically along the building with her hands and feet splayed. She slides down nearly six inches before she manages to get a proper 'hold' on the wall, and with just a bit more concentration, Beca scales her way to the top. Although not the tallest structure, it's high enough to give her a proper view of the city, and she takes a moment to appreciate the sights.

It's as she does this that her 'seventh sense' comes into play; it begins with a tingle, a miniscule buzzing at the base of her skull that alerts her to the fact that something isn't quite right. Instantly, she's on the move, letting instinct guide her as she surges past several city blocks, searching for whatever danger it leads her to.

Beca doesn't know or understand where her powers come from, only that they began to develop sometime after her fifteenth birthday - just as she was hitting (late) puberty. Inhuman strength, unnatural speed and agility, lightning fast reflexes, prolonged stamina, the ability to climb buildings only using her hands and feet; Beca had it _all_.

She had never told anyone, of course. The closest she had ever come to revealing her secret was the one time she'd asked her mother if she'd ever been exposed to radiation as a child; perhaps dropped in a vat of nuclear waste? When her response came in the form of an at-home drug test, Beca never bothered bringing it up again, choosing instead to simply accept whatever curveball life had thrown at her and go on from there.

For the next three years, between school, mixing music, and her job at the mall, Beca honed her skills; she learnt her strengths and weaknesses, pushing boundaries and limits, if only to see just how far she could go. And while she never exactly went _looking_ for trouble, trouble had a funny way of finding her, and she'd become a sort of accidental vigilante back in her hometown. And, as life would have it, it seemed she'd be taking up that mantle here as well…

"Please, take it! Just take it! It's all that I have!"

Beca pauses mid-leap, the tingle in her skull an almost full-blown throb as a woman's terrified cry reaches her ears. Glancing down, she stares as said woman - a young redhead by her eyes - is slowly approached by a man, flanked on either side by three more.

"It'll be fun," she hears him say, "I'll make you feel _real_ good, babe. You'll love it…"

Her blood boils, coursing through her veins like molten lava; her teeth clench, and - as it always does - something within her _snaps_ , and the next thing she knows, she's shedding her backpack and dropping onto the street, just around the corner. It takes her less than a second to make it back towards the scene, and before the man can take even another step, Beca flies headfirst into the fray.

 _'Not on my watch.'_

* * *

 **A/N: Let me know what you think!**


	2. Moving In

**A/N: Welcome back, and thank you to everyone who added this to their fav/follow, and of course, to those of you that left such wonderful reviews! I'm really glad I could catch your interest, and I hope I can keep you guys coming back for more. There is a _tiny_ reference in here to another Marvel character, and several mentions will be made throughout the rest of the story. As I said before, this belongs mainly in the Pitch Perfect universe, though aspects of Spiderman and other Marvel events/characters will be making appearances (much) later on. For now, enjoy the story!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Moving In**

"Where to?"

Beca barely registers the question over the noise of her music, pulling her headphones away just long enough to answer with, "Barden University." He nods his head in acknowledgment, and after resetting the meter, pulls away from the motel and out onto the streets. Fortunately, he doesn't push her into making any sort of conversation - unlike _some_ cab drivers - and for that, Beca is grateful; the day is stressful enough without the added pressure of small talk, and all she wants to do is lose herself in a song or two before she's forced to endure the chaos that is college move-in day.

Slipping her headphones over her ears once more, the freshman listens keenly as her latest mix plays, scrawling messily into her notebook as she scrutinizes every beat and drop of the bass. Five minutes into the ride, and already she's itching to get back onto her laptop; her mind runs rampant with new ideas, brain practically buzzing in excitement, and-... wait, _no_.

This is more than a flash of musical inspiration, she realizes; her skull prickles in warning, and she has just enough time to shout, "stop the car!" - just as an unsuspecting delivery truck backs its way out of a loading zone, and directly into their path. The sound of squealing tires fills her ears as the startled driver slams his foot onto the brake, the car screeching to a halt mere inches from impact.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" he screams, honking his horn and repeatedly flipping the bird at the (un)apologetic truck driver. Huffing with indignation, he locks eyes with Beca through the rearview mirror, tipping his hat at her in gratitude. "I have no idea how you saw that coming, but thanks for the heads up."

She doesn't respond, offering only a shy grin before turning back to her notes, silently thanking the non-existent Gods (the mighty Thor notwithstanding) that he doesn't question her methods. The remainder of the ride is uneventful, and twenty minutes later (but a lifetime too soon), the taxi pulls into the university's main gates.

' _Would you look at that,'_ she muses, eying the gaudy banner, splattered with the school colors and an unholy amount of glitter, strewn over the street, ' _Hell has a welcome sign.'_

"You know your hall?" her driver inquires, speaking for the first time since the earlier mishap.

"Uh, Baker Hall," she replies, only seventy-five percent sure of her answer. Maybe seventy. Her father had dealt with the majority of her paperwork, after all; she was pretty much just there to show up, do her time, and get the hell out.

"I'll get you as close as I can get," he says, maneuvering past the long line of cars towards her new, but temporary home. It takes a few more minutes and a lot of patience, but he makes good on his promise, pulling into an open spot only a stone's throw away from the entrance. After paying her fee, Beca politely declines his offer to help with her bags and slips out of the backseat, quickly unloading her things from the trunk.

"Need help?" a man offers, indicating to the empty cart that he pushes. "I'll just need your name and student ID number, and I can have these delivered straight to your dorm room."

Beca contemplates it only for a moment before she shakes her head 'no'; she could care less about the clothes, but she had slaved all throughout high school in order to afford decent sound equipment, and she doesn't dare risk losing it in some sort of mixup. Besides, it's not as if she'll have trouble handling her own things; so, ignoring his incredulous stare, she slips on her backpack, hefts her largest bag over her shoulder, and dual-carries the remaining two suitcases like they're nothing more than a sack of feathers.

As she turns, she's met by a rather pompous looking blonde, who sports a bright yellow polo and a sort of psychotic smile that she assumes - in some backwards, alternate universe - is meant to come off as friendly. Before she can even attempt to get in a word, the woman begins rattling off this or that, to which Beca almost instantaneously tunes her out. Instead, she lets her eyes wander, taking in her surroundings as she waits for the other girl to finish talking. There isn't much to look at, but she looks anyway, searching for a much needed distraction from Barden's personal welcome committee.

' _Oh, look! Grass,'_ she snarks, silently, not at all entertained by what she sees.

From the corner of her periphery, something catches Beca's eye, and she watches in dispassionate interest as a guy randomly serenades her from the backseat of his parents' car. His head pivots and bounces, fingers strumming in an intense rendition of the air guitar, and it's just so ridiculous to watch that she's beginning to feel the starting effects of secondhand shame. When his father spots an opening in the traffic and guns it, swiftly accelerating to make it through the rapidly closing gap, Beca can't help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction as he's jerked backwards into his seat, gone with a yelp and the roar of an engine.

' _This place just keeps getting better and better…'_

Rolling her eyes and holding back a smirk, she returns her attention to the blonde, whose speech finally appears to be coming to an end. "... and lastly," she proclaims, holding out a corded wristband, from which a small, metallic object hangs, "this here is your _official_ BU rape whistle! Don't blow it unless it's actually happening!"

Beca's eyebrows shoot upwards at the peppy - almost _cheerful_ \- exclamation, nearly disappearing into her hairline as she stares bewilderedly at the proffered trinket. Was this girl for real, or what? Shaking her head, the brunette shrugs her shoulders and indicates to the several bags that she carries. "Thanks, but no thanks," she says, offering a grin that's half grimace. "My hands are full anyway…"

Without so much as a goodbye, she steps past the now incensed woman and walks (more like _runs_ ) away to her awaiting dorm room.

Ten minutes and one terrifyingly awkward introduction later, Beca carefully - almost reverently - sets up her workspace, ignoring her new roommate who is but all too happy to do the same. It takes a lot of trial and error, but she eventually arranges a layout that can work for her on the rather limited desk space she's been given, and wastes no time in laying down a few ground rules.

"Um, well, this is it," she says, clearing her throat to grab the other girl's attention, "My music is sort of everything to me, so please don't touch. Cool…?"

"..."

"Like _ever_ ," she asserts, earning herself a major dose of side-eye, and the slightly passive aggressive setting down of a bonsai tree. "It… it's extremely important to me that you acknowledge this interaction," she ( _almost_ ) pleads.

Silence.

(... somewhere, Beca swears she can hear crickets chirp…)

Realizing she won't be getting a word out of the girl, Beca sighs with defeat and slumps into her chair, settling in to work on her mixes. Throwing on her beloved headphones, she licks her thumb and leafs through her notes, searching for her earlier annotations. It takes a lot of squinting and a little bit of guesswork, but she's eventually able to decipher what her mother had so lovingly named her 'chicken scratch', putting her earlier observations to good use as she cuts back through the mix to her first point of reference.

For the next half hour, Beca is able to get in a few good edits; layering tracks and throwing in new beats, tweaking the pitch and speed, she thinks she's made some solid headway. Just as she considers stopping to unpack and organize her other belongings, her senses alert her to an approaching hazard; it comes to her in a flash, a brief vision of her father squeezing his way out of the packed elevator and into the equally congested hallway.

' _Yeah, no. Not happening,'_ she decides. Beca quickly saves her progress and bolts for the window, announcing a little too enthusiastically, "I'm going to the activities fair!"

Her new BFF, Kimmy Jin, swivels in her chair and stares apathetically as the DJ unlatches the window and throws it open. It's only when she realizes Beca's exit plan does she show an emotion other than indifference, eyes widening a fraction of an inch as she sits up straight, as if to jerk forward and pull the girl back.

"Wait, what?" she asks, watching with no small amount of trepidation as her roommate straddles the landing. "White girl, _no_. This the-..."

Beca leaps.

"... fourth… floor."

For a long moment, Kimmy Jin simply sits and stares, wondering if she's now a first-hand witness to suicide. It takes a second or two for her brain to process what she's just seen, and a few more before she gathers enough courage to peek her head outside and check the status of her assigned roomie. Expecting the worst, but hoping for the best (though she'd never admit it aloud), the young Korean searches for the telltale signs of blood and guts, breathing a sigh of relief when she finds nothing of the sort. Instead, she spots the other freshman sauntering off towards the quad, very much alive and seemingly without a care in the world.

Abruptly, there comes a knocking from the door, and she ducks back in as a male's voice calls, "This is campus police! Hide your wine coolers!" She turns around just in time to see him step in, a silly grin on his face that immediately falters as he realizes that she's not the person he's looking for. "Oh, sorry," he apologizes, sheepishly. "I was just looking for my daughter, Beca. I was told this was her dorm, and… uh…"

His words teeter off at the sight of Kimmy Jin's callous stare, blinking once, then twice as a shiver of _something_ races up and down his spine. It's unnerving, to say the least. "Y'know what, nevermind," he says, pointing towards Beca's side of the room. "I can see she's made it here safely, so… uhm, uh…" And once again, words fail him.

' _What is_ wrong _with me?'_ he wonders, as he - a fully grown man - stutters like a child beneath the irate gaze of this girl no larger, nor less scary, than his own daughter. ' _I teach Comparative Literature, for goodness sake! Language is my specialty!'_ He makes a few more attempts at conversation before giving up, throwing his hands up in defeat and simply walking out. He'll just have to try talking to her later…

(And if Beca happens to request a change of rooms, well, he thinks he might just be inclined agree.)

* * *

"Hi, would you like to be a member of the-..." Aubrey's jaw clenches, lips forming a tight line as a group of girls push past, blatantly ignoring her advances and dismissing her offer to join their acapella sisterhood. Chloe glances worriedly in her direction, only to have a handful of papers shoved onto her clipboard and a terse command to keep handing them out.

"How about we just get good singers?" she suggests, helpfully, though the look her captain gives her says otherwise.

"You want good singers? What?" a voice replies; one that, judging by its Australian accent, does _not_ belong to Aubrey.

The two Bellas turn as one, eying the newcomer with varying degrees of emotion. Aubrey is less than pleased with their latest prospect, whereas Chloe is happy simply to be given the time of day, her elation seeping into her tone as she greets cheerfully, "Hi! Can you sing?"

"Yeah," the girl nods.

"Can you read music?"

"Yeah," she repeats, a goofy sort of grin slowly forming at her lips.

"Can you match pitch?" Chloe presses, eagerly.

"Try me," she insists, pointing at them in invitation.

The two captains share a look before Chloe belts out, " _Watermelon cantaloupe!_ " in varying ranges, which - to both their amazement and shock - she matches perfectly. Aubrey is pleasantly surprised and can't help but join in for the final chant, with a delighted smile that turns into one of polite confusion as the girl continues where they left off, and runs with it.

" _... watermelon cantaloooooupe, pizzaaaa, fries, pancakes_ ," she smacks her belly, " _yum!_ "

"Oh, wow. That-..." Aubrey stutters, struggling to form coherent words.

"I love your enthusiasm," Chloe states, bobbing her head. "So, uhm… what's your name?" she asks, readying her pen to take down her information. Maybe she's a little heavyset, and not the most aesthetically attractive (at least by _society's_ standards) but she's always held the belief that everyone is beautiful, and this girl exudes a sort of confidence that makes her far more appealing than any physical attributes ever could. Besides, they're desperate for new members, and she isn't one to let a golden opportunity pass her by.

"Fat Amy," she declares, proudly, "Or, well, it _used_ to be medium-sized Amy, but y'know…" Amy slaps her belly once more for dramatic effect and laughs, "freshman fifty!"

"Freshman fif… _ty_ ," Aubrey laughs, awkwardly. "O-okay. We can, we can work with that..."

Amy rambles on, seemingly oblivious to the older girls' discomfort as she all but recites to them an entire résumé of random, obscure talents; stuffing free candy from their bowl into her bra between every word. Aubrey's protests of a 'one per person' limit are largely unheard, and she ultimately resigns herself to her fate, merely calling repeated goodbyes in an attempt to get her to leave. Eventually she seems take the hint (or they've run out of chocolate) and, after a final wave, disappears into the crowd of students, leaving just as suddenly as she had came.

Aubrey waits five seconds, making sure she's truly gone, before crying out, "What are we going to do? The Bellas are finished! Our lives are over! We're never gonna-..." She clamps a hand over her mouth mid-rant, feeling the familiar sensation of bile rising slowly up her esophagus.

Chloe's eyes widen and she takes a tentative step back, leaning away just to be safe as she watches Aubrey go through the motions of controlling her reflex. She hesitates to ask, but does so anyway, "Did you almost vomit?"

"Yeah," the blonde replies, sweeping her hair from her face in an effort to appear unphased. "It's the stress," she adds, as if it's no big deal.

"Do you need some water?"

"No. No…" she insists, sniffing. "It didn't come up that far."

Chloe is just about to argue that she take a break, maintaining the need to remain calm if they're ever going to get through this, when something - or rather _someone_ \- catches her attention through the corner of her eyes. It's a girl, all brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a red tank top beneath a layered gray vest; she's just a girl, an ordinary girl, and nothing particular stands out about her other than the fact that Chloe _knows_ her - knows that she is the very reason she herself stands there today.

"Oh my god!" she gasps, smacking her hand frantically against her best friend's shoulder, "Oh my god, Aubrey! Aubrey! It's her… i-it's _really her_!"

"Ow, Chloe! Stop!" the blonde whines, cringing away from her increasingly heavy hits. "It's _who_? Who are you talking about?"

" _Her!_ " she nearly screams, slapping both hands on either side of Aubrey's cheeks as she forces her to look in the right direction.

"Alt girl?" the taller senior asks, eying the freshman as she walks aimlessly through the crowd, glancing at each booth as she passes. "What about her?"

"She's the one who saved me!"

Aubrey seems skeptical. "Are you sure? She seems a little… _small_." Sure, she has impressive musculature for someone her size, and definitely looks like she can hold her own in a one-on-one, but to take down _four_ men? That, to her, sounds like a bit of a stretch.

"It's _totes_ her, I know it is!" Chloe replies, persistently. "You can never forget the face of the person who saved your life - it's like, a _rule_. I just wish I'd caught her name. The police arrived just as I'd asked, and she only stayed to answer their questions. But by the time the ambulance came around, she was gone and… I just, I never thought I'd see her again after that. Aubrey… what do I do…?"

Her voice is small, and Aubrey softens at the way Chloe seems to shrink in on herself, as if suddenly uncertain with how to proceed; clinging to the leather hoodie that, in only a few short days, had become her adult safety blanket. She wore it everywhere, curled up to it at night, and even now - in the Georgian heat - wrapped it around herself like a cocoon. Although cheerful on the outside, Aubrey knows how terrifying this whole ordeal has been for her, and vows to do whatever it takes to help her through this. Even _if_ it means interacting with a Bilbo Baggins' wayward grandniece…

"Look, why don't we wave her over and-..." She's cut off almost immediately.

"But what if she doesn't remember me?" Chloe frets, shooting anxious glances at the girl who gradually wanders closer.

"It's been three days," Aubrey reminds, "Unless she has short term memory loss, I doubt she's forgotten you. Besides, you never forget the face of the person whose life you've saved. It's like, a _rule_ ," she says, smiling tenderly as she rephrases Chloe's earlier statement.

The shorter Bella beams, nudging her shoulder against Aubrey's in playful gratitude, and turns forward to search out her unsung hero, only to realize then that she's headed straight for her…

* * *

Beca doesn't need enhanced sensory capabilities to know she's being watched.

She can practically _feel_ the eyes on her as she makes her way through several stalls, stopping every now and then to browse their offerings. It takes only a cursory glance of the vicinity to spot her spectators; two women standing before a booth, conversing through hushed whispers as they toss her less than subtle glances. The tall one, a rather stiff looking blonde, is a complete stranger to the DJ, but the redhead… well, she's a bit more familiar.

She instantly recognizes the jacket she wears as the one she'd draped around her shoulders only a few nights ago - a rather impulsive act of comfort for a girl she didn't know, but felt obligated to help. It wasn't often she stuck around to further aid those she'd rescued, opting more for a quick in and out approach; but there had been something different about her, about the way she looked at Beca with those wide blue eyes - eyes that were so undeniably honest and pure - that called out to her; that brought out every protective instinct within her tiny body.

She'd lingered just long enough to ensure that the other woman was properly taken care of, answering the officer's inquiries as she watched intently while his partner cuffed the perpetrators; relaxing only when all of them had been rightly detained, and hauled into the backseat of a patrol car. When she heard the sirens blare in the distance, indicating the fast approach of the EMTs, Beca decided she had done her part and made a quick getaway, retrieving her backpack from the roof before leapfrogging her way back to the motel.

Frankly, she assumed she'd never see her again after that night, and though Beca vaguely recalls her mentioning Barden in her explanation as to why she was out late, it doesn't hit her until now that she too must be a student. She does her best now to stay away, to keep her distance; after all, she's made it a point to never involve herself in the lives of those she's helped over the years, but just like before, she finds herself unexpectedly making a change in routine.

Ever so slowly, she strays in their direction, pausing every now and then to make it appear random. A few booths actually do catch her attention, and she spends some time signing up for an internship at the university's radio station before continuing her casual trek towards the two, reading through a pamphlet to keep up appearances. Only, she's so focused on making it seem unintentional that she doesn't watch where she's going, and inadvertently runs head first, directly into her target.

(She swears it's an accident.)

Beca moves faster than she can think, reaching out to grasp the redhead by her waist as she stumbles back, pulling her firmly against her chest in order to stabilize her. It all happens in a single breath, and the next thing she knows, she's staring into eyes so blue, they could give the sky a run for its money. For a brief moment, all the world is calm; they're two separate entities co-existing as one; a shared gaze across space and time, leading up to this very instant…

Aubrey's eyes are about as round as saucers as she watches them first collide and then fall apart, only to come crashing back together in the very next second. The air grows heavy with tension, the atmosphere around them sizzling with electricity, and she can't help but feel as though she's intruding on something sacred. In other words, it's intense; a little _too_ intense, if you asked her, and so she clears her throat in hopes of getting them to stop. (Because, _whew_! Was it getting hot out here or what?)

It does the trick and they spring apart, the younger student making a clear effort in defining whose space belongs to whom. "Sorry, I should have watched where I was going," Beca says, apologizing through a cringe as she hastily figures out what to do with her flailing hands. ' _My god, stop spazzing! What are you, epileptic!? You are a badass, and you will act accordingly… so_ sack up _, Mitchell!'_

"No, no," Chloe replies, smiling shyly, "It was an accident. It's totally okay."

Beca chooses not to comment on the whole 'accident' bit, and instead (silently) agrees to disagree. "Well, if you say so…" she murmurs, which is followed by a beat of silence; and then, "Uhm, I know that this may come off as weird or strange, but do you recognize me? See, there was this girl a few days ago, and-..."

"Yes!" the redhead exclaims, shaking her head vigorously. "Yes, _of course_ I recognize you! You were the one who saved me from those jerk-faced perverts the other night. Y'know, I never really got to thank you for that…"

"Oh, no thanks necessary," says Beca, releasing a bashful grin. "It was really just a matter of being in the right place, at the right time. And it's not as if I could just sit back and watch whatever was going to happen… y'know, _happen_ , so… yeah, it was no problem at all. Glad I could help."

"Well, I appreciate it. Really, _thank you_ ," Chloe says again, reaching out and placing her hand on Beca's arm in a show of gratitude. Though the girl is short, she's nothing but lean, sinewy muscle, and the senior can't help but give a testing squeeze. ' _Oh, wow, those are firm,'_ she gushes, slowly caressing her hand against it.

Beca's face all but glows as she stares down, eying the hand on her bicep as she is undeniably groped. There is war between her mind and body; no one is allowed to touch her without her express permission, and yet, no matter how hard she screams at it to pull away, the rest of her refuses to listen. The most she can manage is to stand there with the expression of a deer caught in the headlights, willing herself not to further make a fool of herself.

Thankfully, the (mostly forgotten) blonde seems to sense her discomfort, swooping in to rescue her as she delicately takes the ginger's hand and gently pries it off her arm. "Okay, Chloe," she whispers, softly, "That's enough touching, she's barely legal…"

Chloe snaps out of her daze and flashes an apologetic grin, letting Aubrey hold her hand to keep it from straying back.

Coughing to hide her awkwardness, Beca shoves her own hands into her pockets and rocks back and forth on the heels of her boots. "Uh, anyway," she begins, "I was just walking around when I spotted you, and I just… I wanted to see how you were doing? Your arm, it was injured, wasn't it?"

"My wrist," Chloe nods, pulling up her sleeve to reveal the bulky brace. "But luckily it was only a sprain. I don't know what I'd have done if I'd actually broken it. Fortunately, this can be taken off when needed; otherwise, I'm not sure how I could ever make such an ugly cast work with my uniform."

"Uniform?" Beca asks, curiously.

"Oh! We're an acapella group," she explains, pointing back and forth between her and the blonde. "We sing covers of songs, but we do it without _any_ instruments. It's all from our _mouths_."

She can feel her face twist in revolt at the image those words bring to mind, responding only with a startled, "Yikes!"

Suddenly Chloe jumps forward, once more pushing Beca's boundaries as she asks excitedly, "Hey, you wouldn't happen to be interested, would you?"

Beca blinks, taking a moment to let the question to sink in. Was… was that the sort of vibe she was giving off? That she was the type to be interested in ' _making music from her_ _mouth'_? "Sorry, it's just… it's pretty lame," she says, wincing slightly.

"Aca- _scuse_ me?" the blonde interrupts, and Beca has to do a double take at the genuine offense she hears in her voice. "Synchronized lady singing to a Mariah Carey chart topper is _not_ lame."

"We sing all over the world, and compete in national championships," Chloe adds cheerfully, hoping to diffuse the situation before it actually _becomes_ one.

"On purpose?" Beca asks, bewildered by the mere notion that there were actual competitions surrounding the activity.

"We played the Cobb Energy Performing Arts Center!" Aubrey retorts, adding a silent, ' _you bitch!'_ to the end of her statement. It's only out of respect for her heroics does she keep the comment to herself, because as much as she loves acapella, she loves Chloe more, and insulting her best friend's savior is a definite no-no at this point.

"What she means to say," Chloe cuts in, "is that we're a close-knit, talented group of ladies whose dream is to return to the national finals at Lincoln Center this year." Smiling brightly, she finishes, "Help us turn our dreams into a reality?"

This was getting weird - weird even for someone with unexplained super powers - and Beca realizes she needs to get out of there before it has a chance at getting any weirder. "Sorry, I don't even sing," she lies, taking a few steps back. "But it was nice talking to you two, and uh…yeah. I'm… I'm going to go now."

She makes it only a few yards to safety before Chloe goes running after her, tugging the back of her vest to keep her from going any further. "Wait!" she exclaims, moving to unzip Beca's jacket. "Your hoodie - I totally forgot, but I have it. Let me give it back to you."

"Huh?" Beca turns and pauses, watching as Chloe's hand grasps the zipper and slowly pulls it down. "Oh, no. No, don't worry about it," she finds herself saying, reaching out to stop her from taking it off. "It's fine, keep it."

"What? Are you-... wait, what?" Chloe hesitates, "A-are you sure?"

No, no she isn't. ' _That's actually my favorite jacket,'_ Beca thinks, but instead of saying _that_ , she offers a warm, crooked grin and nods, telling her, "Yeah, I'm sure. Keep it. It… it looks better on you."

A bashful smile spreads across the redhead's lips. "Thanks," she murmurs, and for a good minute, the two do nothing but stare.

But then, as if just comprehending the meaning of her own words, Beca's face turns a beet red and she moves quickly to make her escape. This whole thing had taken a full turn into _Nopeville_ , and she was not about to stick around to watch it burn down. "Okay, nice talk! Take care! Bye!" she spits out, shaking Chloe's hand before power walking her way through the crowd, as fast and as far she could go as humanly as possible.

Despite the abrupt exit, Chloe grins as she clutches the fabric of her jacket, embracing its warmth and inhaling the distinctive scent of leather and old vinyl. She'll be seeing a lot of that girl around - she just _knows_ it. Though, it's only five minutes later, when they're signing up a tall, dirty blonde with legs for days, does she realize she's missing one key detail…

"I _still_ forgot to get her name!"

* * *

 **A/N: Would love to hear what you think!**


	3. Making Friends

**A/N: Hello! Glad to have you back! Jesse makes his official appearance, and Beca and Chloe get some nice one-on-one time. Generally another lighthearted, fun chapter, though things take a sharp turn near the end. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Making Friends**

Oh, no.

It's _him_ again - "singing car guy" from freshman move in day - and while Beca has a long list of people she'd rather not see again (the entirety of Barden's population included), he is one of the many specifics. Mainly because, if he were to attempt an encore performance, she can't really be held responsible for her own reaction… which may or may not result in a high five to his face. With her fist. _Repeatedly_.

It also doesn't help that he's just interrupted her conversation with the radio station manager, meandering in five minutes late and pretty much ruining one of her rare attempts at standing out. Beca isn't the most sociable person around, but music is her passion, and if chatting up her superior is what it takes for her to get noticed, she'll do what's needed. After all, natural talent can only get her so far; it's experience in the field, and glowing recommendations that will actually _get_ her somewhere; somewhere, god willing, that isn't _here_.

Of course, as with everything else in her life, Beca's plans are shot down before they can even take flight. Jesse, as he's introduced, continuously insists they know one another, only to be rebutted time and time again as she tries to rekindle her discussion with Luke. Naturally, the burly blonde mistakes their interaction as some awkward, heated attempt at flirting, and assigns them to CD stacking. But _not_ before notifying them that sex on the desk is off limits.

Gross.

"I _do_ know you," Jesse claims, dropping his bag as she grabs a handful of CDs and old records that are already laying out. "I sang to you. I remember because you were in a taxi." His head, which is down, suddenly shoots up, as if he's had some unexpected revelation. "Wait, is your dad a taxi driver?"

"No," she replies, curtly. Rolling her eyes, she shoves her hand into the box of CDs that Luke had set down, and pulls out a random case - Bob Marley. ' _At least this place has good taste,'_ she muses, setting it aside with a forlorn sigh. "This sucks," she says, more to herself than anyone, "I wanted to play music."

"Not me," the other freshman replies, fixing her with a stare of false sincerity. "I'm here for one reason only. I _really_ love stacking CDs. Y'know, I was actually offered a job at a lab that tests the effects of marijuana on your appetite, but I was like, 'No, I wanna stack CDs! Y'know, hopefully in the vicinity of a…" His voice trails off, gaze dropping towards the table as he recalls Luke's earlier mention of sexcapades, "... semen smeared desk, because that is _definitely_ what happened here. Right?"

Jesse's face turns a little pale at the thought.

Beca, who has spent more time in the seedy underbelly of the city than she'd like to admit, is relatively unphased by this revelation, and shrugs casually as she flips through the collection. "Too bad we don't have my blacklight," she answers, pushing a small CD leaflet back into it's proper place. "Then we'd know for sure."

He stares at her for a moment, as if deciding whether or not she's real, before breaking out into an amused grin. "So, what's your deal?" he asks, moving to place a few albums onto the shelf. "You one of those girls who's all dark and mysterious… then she takes off her glasses and that amazingly scary ear spike, and then you realize that she was beautiful the whole time?"

"I don't wear glasses," Beca replies, exasperated.

"Then you're halfway there," Jesse shoots back, without so much as missing a beat.

She eyes him warily as he makes his way back, looping around the shelf so that he's coming at her from the other side. "You're a weirdo," she decides, though it comes off more friendly than insulting.

"Yeah, and so are you," he says, returning the compliment. "It's a good thing we're gonna be best friends… and, or lovers," he adds, jokingly.

"Please don't say lovers," Beca balks, shaking her finger at him. He looks like he wants to say more, but she quickly cuts him off, "No, really. Please don't. You… you're persistent, and outgoing, and you share way too many personal thoughts. But… you're _nice_ , I'll give you that. And because we _will_ be spending a lot of time together, I think maybe we do have… potential… to be friends. Not _close_ friends, but still friends. Anything beyond that though… I'm… I'm just not interested."

Jesse stares at her, a blank, unreadable expression on his face. Beca _almost_ feels bad, but this isn't exactly her first time turning someone down; in fact, it comes to her as easily as breathing - rejection, that is. Be that of others, or herself, it's not like this is anything new; still, he looks something akin to a kicked puppy, or a kid who's just been told that Santa is a lie. She's not completely heartless, and thinks of ways to soften the blow, but then he's smiling - grinning from ear to ear, really - and nodding his head, as if bobbing to a beat only he can hear.

"Honesty!" he chuckles, a genuine gleam of affection in his soft brown eyes. "I like it." Holding out his fist, he waits for her to hesitantly bump her own against it and beams, "Best friends it is, then!"

* * *

It's late afternoon and Beca rests beneath the shade of a tree, cradled by a bed of soft grass and upturned roots that form a pseudo barrier; as if outlining her personal space, and defining which portion of the overcrowded lawn belongs to her. It's been a long day for the aspiring DJ, and it's bound to be an even longer night. She can feel herself growing restless, caged within the iron gates of Barden, and as ample as the campus is, it just isn't _large_ enough for what she wants - what she _needs_.

Her body yearns to be free, to roam streets far and wide, to be where the action is; Beca seeks the thrill of falling, of flying, of the feeling of complete and utter invincibility. She wants to climb and to crawl, to race past roadways and city lights; maybe take down the random street thug if the occasion calls for it. Here, she is contained; held down; music is her only escape - the only thing that can even come _close_ to giving her that same rush of excitement - and though it helps ease the ache, she can only resist it for so long.

It's as if it calls out to her, some sort of deep seeded need to run wild that is ingrained into her very DNA. Several days have passed since she took her last ' _joy ride'_ downtown, and Beca is nearing the end of her wits. Her classes are done for the day, and she's fulfilled her quota for stacking CDs at the station; all she wants now is to lay here until dark, losing herself to the combined rhythm of David Guetta and The Proclaimers as she waits for her time to come.

Throwing in a few last minute edits, she casts her gaze around the quad as it teems with activity, letting the energy and vibe soak through her. Content with her surroundings, she leans into her bag, which is propped behind her like a pillow; taking a final cursory glance, she places her headphones over her ears and closes her eyes, letting the music take her away.

She falls easily into its embrace, comforted by the thumping of the bass and steady pulsations of the beat; the lyrics weave in and out as if in some intricate dance, parting and coming together again and again. A sigh of satisfaction eases its way past thin lips, bubbling from somewhere deep within her as she relaxes for what feels like the first time in days. Beca is so far gone, so lost in her own little world, that she fails notice the approaching figure until it's much too late.

With a start, she's jerked back into the real world as she senses something _very off_ ; a sort of churning in her gut that's reminiscent of the time she drank spoilt milk because she was too stubborn to listen to her father. Eyes shooting open, Beca is welcomed to the sight of a curious face hovering inches above her own. "What the _fuck_!?" she breathes, yanking her headphones off.

Her first instinct is to punch first, ask questions later, but she recognizes the eyes with that particular shade of blue, and reigns it in. Instead, her hand curls into a fist, and she squeezes as hard as she can, nearly drawing blood as she forces herself to ignore her body's impulse to self-preserve. It takes a few steadying breaths to calm her nerves before she can face her unexpected visitor, willing her heart to slow down before it kills her.

Inhaling sharply, she holds her breath for several seconds, and then exhales in a single, disgruntled puff of air. "What the fuck?" she repeats, a little less startled, and a lot more cross.

"Sorry," the redhead apologizes, offering a sheepish grin as she sits back on her knees, giving Beca back her precious (and much needed) space. "I didn't meant to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," she replies, defensively. "You _surprised_ me. There's a difference..."

The older girl gives her a look of skeptical amusement, but wisely chooses not to argue. "Okay, I didn't mean to _surprise_ you," she corrects, "I just saw you hanging out, and thought I'd stop by and say hi. I've actually been looking for you these past couple of weeks, but you're a very hard woman to find. I mean, you must be really amazing at, like… hide and seek, cuz I swear! I've searched this school up and down, and I couldn't find you _anywhere_."

"Sooo…" Beca begins, drawing out the word as she unconsciously presses herself further back, "You're _stalking_ me now?"

The senior laughs and shakes her head. "Stalking implies that I've been following you around. I've only been trying to _find_ you. There's a difference," she teases, repeating the brunette's earlier words.

A hesitant "okay…" is her only reply.

"Anyway, I'm Chloe," she introduces, holding out her hand for the girl to shake.

Beca eyes the offered hand, remembering all too well the last time they'd made physical contact. If memory served her, there had been an inappropriate amount of touching involved, and she's reluctant to repeat the incident so soon. Cautiously, she inches her own hand forward and gives Chloe a limp shake, before retracting swiftly to the safety of her own (dangerously small) personal bubble.

"Nice to meet you," she murmurs, "... _again_." Chloe smiles brightly, staring expectantly, and it takes her several moments of nervous sweating to realize what it is that she's apparently waiting for. "Oh, uh… I'm Beca," she says, rather lamely.

"Finally!" the exuberant ginger proclaims, much to Beca's bewilderment. "I've been calling you 'hot hero chick' in my head since the activities fair! It's nice to finally put an actual name to you!"

There's a dumbfounded expression on Beca's face, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed in a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. ' _Hot hero chick?'_ she repeats to herself, unsure with what to do with that sort of information. She opens her mouth, attempting to form some sort of coherent response, but nothing intelligible finds its way out.

Chloe giggles - _giggles!_ \- at her reaction, far too excited at the prospect of having broken this freshman with a single sentence. It's beyond adorable, and all she wants to do is gather the smaller girl into her arms and just _squeeze_ the living daylights out of her. ' _Oh my gosh, she's so cute!'_ she squeals internally, fighting back the urge to reach out and pinch her cheeks.

Beca, as if sensing the increasing levels of 'cuteness aggression' that seem to roll off of Chloe in waves, snaps out of her stupor and chuckles anxiously, "That's me! _Beca_." (Because if she never hears the phrase 'hot hero chick' again, it'll still be too soon.)

"Well, _Beca_ ," says Chloe, beaming, "I know you said that no thanks was necessary, but I'd _really_ like to buy you dinner, or even coffee at the very least, as a token of my appreciation. What you did, stepping in like that… I can't _ever_ repay it, but… but if you give me the chance, I'd like to try."

She's taken aback by the sincerity in her voice, blown away by the honest truth that resonates in her words; Beca is used to doing things without notice, without an ounce of recognition, and yet here Chloe is - basically a stranger in every sense - not only offering her gratitude, but going out of her way to _find_ her in order to do so. To put it lightly, it's… kind of amazing.

"Beca…?" Chloe questions, as minutes pass and she receives no response.

"Sorry," she chuckles, awkwardly, snapping out of her thoughts. "Totally zoned out there for a second. Uhm, I appreciate your efforts, but I… I was really only trying to do the right thing, and-..."

"No, _please_ ," the Bella cuts in, "I insist you let me do this."

"Look, I-..." she attempts, but is interrupted again, this time by the sound of her own stomach as it growls with hunger. Her mouth clamps shut, teeth clacking with how quickly she closes it, and her face burns more brightly than the waning sun.

Chloe can't help it, nearly bursting a lung with how hard she laughs. "Do you have class?" she asks, after she finally manages to get her giggling under control.

Beca, too mortified to speak, only shakes her head 'no'.

Smiling, the redhead leaps to her feet and dusts off her jeans, before holding out a hand to help Beca up. "C'mon, you stubborn child," she says, as the younger girl packs away her things and reluctantly takes her hand. "Let's get some food in that belly before someone decides to call animal control."

"It wasn't that loud," Beca mumbles, in an almost pout.

"It sounded like a pack of wild dingos fighting over the remains of a dead wallaby," Fat Amy - who she remembers meeting at the Deaf Jews booth - interjects, as she seemingly appears from nowhere.

The DJ gapes openly.

"How did you-...? When did you-...? W-where did you even _come from!?_ " the shorter girl exclaims, wondering to herself what exactly it was about this place that seemed to nullify her "supposedly" super-heightened senses. Seriously, this is _twice_ in the same hour that someone has gotten the jump on her…

Completely misinterpreting the question, Amy merely replies, "Tasmania."

Beca shoots furtive glances, back and forth between her and the equally stunned Chloe, before choosing the lesser of two awkwards as she retakes the redhead's hand. "I can't handle this. I need pizza," she states bluntly, all but dragging the older woman behind her as she makes a beeline for the cafeteria.

* * *

Chloe can't believe it.

She found her! She _finally_ found her! Two weeks of hard searching, and she stumbles across the brunette by _accident_ , spotting her lying out in the quad as she cut through on the way back to her apartment.

' _It's destiny,'_ she tells herself as she's led to the main dining hall, smiling down at the hand that holds her own. Beca is apparently so hangry, and so caught up in her frustrations, she doesn't seem to realize that she hasn't let go yet, releasing her grip only after they've reached their destination.

"Please have pepperoni," the freshman chants, grabbing a tray as she heads towards the pizza. Chloe watches on with mild disturbance as Beca gives a happy cheer and piles _half_ a pie onto her plate, before heading off towards the taco station, having completely forgotten about her in the presence of food.

Remembering that she offered to pay, and realizing that she should probably get something to eat as well, Chloe grabs a garden salad and some grilled chicken - as if her healthy choices can somehow counteract the amount of meat, cheese, and carbs that Beca has miraculously stacked onto her single tray. She sincerely doubts it, but it's still a nice sentiment to have…

"Ah-ah-ah!" she scolds, as she rushes to catch up with the DJ, who has her meal card out and is already in line to pay. "My treat, remember?"

Beca glances down at her three slices of pizza, two tacos, and a bowl of fruit salad. "It's kind of a lot," she points out, blushing. Sometimes she forgets that her metabolism runs about two to three times that of a normal person, and those that have never seen her eat before tend to get a bit overwhelmed.

"What part about 'my treat' don't you understand?" Chloe jests, shoving her own card at the cashier before Beca has further chance to protest. "Besides, if you were to put a price on my life, I'd like to think that it would come out to a lot more than just a tray of cafeteria food."

"Yeah, you're right. It'd be at least two," Beca replies playfully, before she actually realizes what she's said, the smile on her face falling instantly. "I mean, no. You… you can't put a price on a life, and it's totally not funny that I just put one on yours. That was really insensitive, and-..."

"Whoa, hold on!" Chloe counters, as she places a hand on Beca's elbow and gently steers her towards an open table. "First of all, I made the joke, and though I admit, the whole incident is still a little fresh, I'm not so damaged that I can't make light of it. Secondly, I… I really like this - like _you_ , being sarcastic and funny. I mean, you're adorably awkward, but it's pretty nice to see other aspects of you as well."

There's a lump in Beca's throat and she tries not to choke on it as she nods, not confident enough to respond with anything more. This is beyond uncomfortable now; most people take one look at her and turn in the other direction, scared off by the hardened exterior and sharp tongue. Chloe, for one reason or another, doesn't seem to see that; doesn't notice she's a different breed of person, and not the kind to be trifled with.

Between her and Jesse, this is new territory for the freshman - having people that aren't related by blood (and thus naturally obligated) showing interest. She doesn't know what to do.

"Er, okay…" That seems to be her default answer to everything, but it's all Beca has, and so she goes with it.

Chloe doesn't seem to mind and waves her hand at the food, indicating that it's okay for her to start eating. Thankful for the distraction, Beca flashes a small, grateful grin and tucks into her food. For several minutes, they eat in semi-comfortable silence, the smaller student still a little on edge as she hides mostly behind her dinner. Every now and then, she'll cast a glance in the redhead's direction, only to flush as she's immediately caught, and bury herself further into her meal.

"Is there something on my face?" Chloe asks after the third time, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

Beca coughs and sputters out the first excuse she can think of, "You're… uh, y-you're wearing my jacket."

"I thought it was _my_ jacket now?" she quips, finding immense satisfaction in the way Beca almost seems to panic; seriously, this girl was just too cute, and way too fun to mess with.

"Well, that's what I meant," she says quickly, attempting to save face as she wills the fire in her veins to settle down. "It's _your_ jacket, but it… it was mine before it… was yours?"

" _Mhmmm_ ," is Chloe's amused response, but it's quickly replaced by a timid expression of her own. "Y'know, I sort of wear it all the time," she admits, laughing softly.

Beca's eyes widen, surprised. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she nods, picking at the salad with her fork. "It… it makes me feel safe. I was really terrified that night, but when you wrapped me up, it was like an immediate feeling of security. I couldn't have felt any safer than I did at that moment, and wearing it around… it makes me feel protected."

It takes a moment for Beca to process Chloe's confession, but almost immediately, she can feel a small part of herself reach out to this girl. She knows that feeling well, has experienced it before; in fact, it was a similar incident to Chloe's that actually _led_ to the emergence of her powers all those years ago. She had just turned fifteen and was in the throes of her teenage rebellion phase, sneaking out at night to roam the streets because ' _fuck curfew!_ '

Wandering through the park late at night and bumming a smoke off a kid with similar intentions, she walked alone, and with no particular destination in mind. It was as she passed a thick lining of trees, completely out of view from the street, that she was approached by a group of haggard looking men. They hooted and hollered, placing their hands on inappropriate places; backed her into a corner, and promised to show her a good time.

The instant one of them tried to push off her jacket, something inside of her snapped; she punched the first guy squarely in the jaw, and knocked him straight _through_ a tree. Yeah, it was still only a youngling, and the trunk couldn't have been any thicker than six or seven inches, but he had plowed into it with such force, it snapped like a twig.

And when his groupies moved to attack, it was if they were all moving through water; every swing came in slow motion, allowing her an easy dodge and even easier retaliation. It was only when she saw one of them begin to pull a gun did she hightail it outta there, somehow managing to jump _over_ the playground gate in a single leap, and far away to safety before she landed. The rest, well… that was what they called history.

Shaking her head, Beca finds herself back in the present, and doesn't stop to think as she reaches across the table to take Chloe by the hand. "Are you okay?" she asks, sincerely. It had taken her months to get over the ordeal, all alone and afraid; unsure of who to speak with, because really… who would believe her? And she can't imagine it's any easier for Chloe now.

"Have you seen anyone? Talked to anyone?" she presses, softly. "I know it can't be easy to forget."

"I talked it out with my parents, and I've had a couple of sessions with a counselor," she answers, unable to stop the smile from forming as Beca shifts from awkward to attentive, enjoying the warmth of her hand over her own. "And then there's Aubrey, my best friend. You met her at the Bella booth. She basically hasn't let me out of her sight since school started, unless one of us in in class anyway… and she's _always_ checking up on me when-..."

 _[So I put my hands up,_

 _They're playin' my song_

 _The butterflies fly away]_

They both jump, startled by the unexpected burst of song, and Chloe blushes as she hurries to pull out her phone. Beca grins, a brow raised high in amusement as she asks, "Seriously? Party in the USA? _That's_ your ringtone?"

"Hey, it's catchy!" Chloe defends, fumbling through her purse.

 _[I'm noddin' my head like yeah,_

 _Movin' my hips like yeah!]_

"You know what else is catchy? Syphilis," Beca retorts, "But you don't see everyone jumping to catch that tune, do you?"

Chloe clicks her tongue at the brunette and mutters a soft, "shut _up_!" as she finally manages to find her phone, eyes rolling as she reads the caller ID. "Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," she grins, swiping to accept the call. "Hey, Aubrey! I was just-... wait, wait, slow down! You're losing me! What do you mean there was-... oh my god!"

Beca is just about to ask what's wrong when her "seventh sense" goes completely haywire, an explosion of activity and sound flashing through her mind. She straightens out, eyes unseeing as she focuses on the images in her head, attempting to make sense of the chaos and confusion. There are students running, screaming; she can smell gas and a number of other unidentifiable substances; fire, white hot flames, scorching to the touch; a familiar landmark - the statue of their school's founder - briefly appears, and she knows immediately where she needs to be.

"The chem lab," she mutters, hastily gathering her things.

"Wait, what?" Chloe asks, holding a hand over the phone. "How did you-...?" she glances down, checking to see if she's accidentally put it on speaker, "There was a gas leak, and some sort of explosion. A few students are trapped inside, and the firefighters can't approach until hazmat arrives… did you _know_? How?"

"I have to go," Beca says, hurriedly tossing her trash without further explanation. "Thanks for dinner."

"Go? Go where?" she demands, standing up. "Beca, _where_ are you going? You're not seriously thinking about-... wait! Wait! Hold on!" She hangs up on Aubrey and slings her own bag over her shoulder, throwing away her own tray before rushing after the swiftly departing freshman.

"Beca! Beca, no!" she cries, throwing open the door to the cafeteria as she runs outside, frantic eyes scouring her surroundings as she searches her out. "BECA!" she shouts, louder, fear roiling in her gut...

And then a whisper, " _Beca…_ " But she's already gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Reviews are always appreciated!**


	4. Girl on Fire

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone for giving this fic a chance! I'm happy you're enjoying it so far, and I hope you continue to enjoy it the further along we get. Please leave reviews, and continue to let me know what you think! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Girl on Fire**

Beca smells the fire long before she sees it.

Pushing past the doors of the cafeteria, she is met by that distinctly acrid odor - unpleasantly sharp and bitter. It ignites within her a sense of urgency, and she clambers up the nearest tree, caring little for the strange looks it earns her. Sunset hovers above the campus and night will soon be upon them; shrouded in shadow, Beca is confident that she will not be identified, and determines - considering the circumstance, and whatnot - that it's safe for her to be a little less discreet with her powers.

She ties her hair messily into a bun, and shucks off her blue plaid shirt, shoving it into her bag which she stashes on the highest branch for safe keeping. Any other unnecessary layers are immediately shed; accessories are removed, and jewelry is put away; anything extra that can either catch fire, get snagged, or weigh her down - all is set aside until she's left in nothing but a tank top, her jeans, and her boots.

Climbing higher, Beca emerges from the treetops, nestled amongst the canopy as she stares off into the distance. The flames - bright and menacing - dominate the horizon, and she watches on in horror as fire consumes the building. Noxious fumes rise higher and higher, as if in offering to the heavens, and even from a distance, it is potent enough to irritate her already drying throat.

' _That is one hell of a bonfire,'_ she muses, as she prepares to leap.

"BECA!"

The brunette falters at the sound of her name, ducking through the leaves and foliage as she seeks out that familiar head of red hair. She watches as Chloe stumbles along the steps to the cafeteria, voice laced with panic as she twists round and around, blue eyes darting this way and that in search of the vanished freshman. Guilt gnaws at her insides, settling deeply in her gut, and Beca almost turns back; almost stays.

But something greater calls, something far above her own wants or needs.

"See you around," she sighs in parting, regretful but determined as she sets her sights once more on the peril that lies ahead.

Crouching, she lets the tension build in her thighs before releasing it in a single bound, springing forward at high speed. Leap after leap, she hurdles across campus towards the swiftly growing blaze, skidding to a halt atop the school's clock tower, which stands directly across the science building.

The heat is intense, even from a dozen yards out; a layer of sweat quickly dampens her brow, skin flushing as she stands before the flames. Beca takes a moment to observe, working out her game plan as she constructs a mental layout of the burning structure, using her knowledge of the school's architecture and standard format in conjunction with her enhanced precognitive abilities. Most of the students and faculty have already made it out on their own, a few stragglers rescued by first responders; but a portion of the roof is collapsed, and she can 'see' several figures huddled together on the top floor, in what they must believe to be their last moments.

Suddenly, the building is rocked by a secondary explosion, no doubt caused by the excessive buildup of heat. Several windows shatter outwards, sending broken shards of glass flying as a burst of flames punches through. Beca shields her face from the blast, gritting her teeth as a rush of warmth sweeps through the area, increasing the temperature of the air by a good ten or so degrees. She can hear the terrified screams from onlookers below, near deafening in pitch, and she realizes there is no time for careful planning - it's now or never.

"Fuck it," she growls, throwing caution to the wind. Vaulting across the several yard gap, Beca lands on the roof in a tuck and roll, burying her face into the crook of her elbow as she inhales a mouthful of ash and embers.

Spotting the access door, she kicks it open and descends rapidly into what can only be described as the pits of Hell. It's more than just a fire, it's an inferno; it is death incarnate, a demon that writhes grotesquely along the floor and ceilings, laying claim to all that it touches. Beca feels herself grimace, flames licking at the heels of her boots; testing her, _tasting_ her flavor - as if to decide whether or not to savor her slowly, or devour her whole…

(She figures it's best if she doesn't give it the chance to make up its mind.)

Beca grits her teeth, the angle of her jaw clenched in sharp resolve as she runs, barreling through the inflamed hallways. Fire kisses her cheeks, beckoning her softly like an impassioned lover; warm at first, and then burning hot; hotter, and hotter still. It lashes out, enraged by her noncompliance, no longer gentle but aggressive as it claws her bared flesh; she can feel portions of her skin begin to crack and split, like that of a roasted pig, and she pushes herself to move faster before she becomes just that.

' _There!'_ her senses tell her, as she comes across a section of hallway that has been caved in, an array of fallen beams, bricks and concrete blocking a straight path through. Beca eyes the pylons wearily, mulling over their weight; she knows she's strong, having tested her strength against every heavyweight in the local gym, but even after all these years, her max limit is yet to be determined.

She reckons now is as good a time as ever to find out.

"Shit, that's hot!" she hisses, quickly retracting her hands as they practically sear on contact. She stares down, eying the quickly forming blisters and grimaces, realizing that she has no other choice if she wants to get these people out on time. Bracing herself for the pain to come, she grips the first beam and lifts, surprised to find that - while heavy - it's not nearly as heavy as she'd initially anticipated. Still, while the weight is relatively comfortable, having her hands fried is _not_ , and she pulls it loose with a powerful tug.

Backing up, she places it down somewhere out of the way and gets to work on the rest, doing her best to ignore the agony of her hands. Music has always been her escape, her safe haven from the world; her personal sanctuary against everything and anything. Beca turns to it in her every instance of need, and consciously or unconsciously, she turns to it now as she fights back the urge to scream.

" _She's just a girl, and she's on fire_ ," she hums, her voice raw and aching. (Because even in matters of life or death, Beca can always rely on her crude sense of humor to make an appearance.) " _Hotter than a fantasy, longer than a highway. She's living in a world, and it's on fire._ "

By the time she's finished clearing the path, Beca's hands are charred and bloodied; her skin is baked, layered with scorch marks and burns. The pain is like nothing she's ever felt before, and though it hurts, she isn't finished yet - not by a longshot. Obstinate and hard headed, Beca shakes off her own discomfort and continues on, letting instinct guide her to a classroom door that has been barricaded from the inside.

"Smart yet stupid," she murmurs, ripping the door cleanly off its hinges; though the fire has not yet touched this room, the air is thick and heavy with smoke, hazy with gray clouds that make it difficult to see and even more difficult to breathe. By now, everyone is either passed out or teetering on the edge of it, and Beca doesn't think twice about grabbing the nearest table and hurling it at the window.

"I've got you, don't worry. You're going to be okay," Beca promises soothingly, throwing two students over her shoulders as she leaps towards safety. Though this side of the building is secluded from the main walkway, the flying table and subsequently broken glass has garnered the attention of others, who come rushing over to investigate. A firefighter orders one of his men to grab a ladder, but Beca is already on the move again, depositing her passengers into the arms of waiting medics before clambering back up the wall.

Of course, with an audience now, Beca is forced to slow her pace and make a show of climbing the rain gutter before swinging her way to the window's ledge. Pulling herself in, she exits a few moments later, with two more victims slung over her back.

"What? But? How did you-...?" the fireman stumbled, flabbergasted, as she hops from the windowsill and sticks her landing.

Although she is careful, Beca has been caught once or twice in the past, and is ready with an excuse when he asks. "Parkour," she explains briefly, turning to make her return for the remaining people. A hand is placed on her shoulder and she winces as pressure is applied to her scorched skin; though the man isn't nearly strong enough to hold her back, she lets him, and waits for an explanation.

"We've got it from here," he says, indicating to his subordinates, who have come back with the ordered ladder. Smiling fondly, he adds, "You did good, kid. Now get yourself to a medic. You look like you're about to cough out a lung."

Relief washes over Beca as she watches the firefighters make their ascent, grateful that she won't be needed any longer. Helping people is one thing, but killing herself over it… well, she hasn't quite made _that_ sort of commitment just yet. A fireman gently guides her towards triage, where she is swept into the embrace of a waiting medic, who wraps her up in a blanket and quickly fits her with a mask.

"Oh, yep. That's the good stuff," she chokes out, as fresh oxygen is pumped through her respirator. He leads her to a bench and tells her to sit tight while he gathers a few supplies, and though Beca desperately wants to let him tend to her wounds, she's not about to give herself away. With the earlier chaos, she doubts anyone has gotten a good look at her face, and she would very much like to keep it that way.

Taking a deep breath, Beca removes the mask and slips free of her blanket, walking quickly from the secured perimeter and out into the encroaching darkness. Everyone is either too busy or otherwise occupied to notice her leave, and she makes a clean getaway, retaking her position atop the clock tower to observe from afar. It's only when she's certain that everyone has escaped, and the firefighters begin their full-on assault of the flames, does she claim it a job well done.

* * *

"Oh my god, Aubrey! I'm such an idiot!"

Chloe is in full blown panic, heart caught in her throat as she races across the school grounds, hoping against hope that her fears will be proven wrong. Aubrey, who she's called back, listens intently from the other side of the line and attempts to put two and two together.

"Why, what's going on? What's wrong? Why are you an idiot?" she asks, her own worry coming to the forefront as she imagines any number of possibilities. "Chloe, why are you running? More importantly, _where_ are you running to?"

"Beca! I have to find Beca!" Chloe pants, jogging across the main lawn.

There's a pause, and then, "Who the _hell_ is Beca?"

"The girl! The one I've been looking for - the one who saved me!" she explains, tightening her grip on her phone as she shoves past a group of students. "I ran into her in the quad, and we were having dinner together in the cafeteria. But then you called, and I don't know what happened… she overheard about the fire, or _something_ , and I'm like ninety-nine point nine-nine percent sure that this chick has some sort of hero complex, because she just up and left! Like, literally… all she said was, "I have to go" and then she _bolted_!"

"And… and how does this come back to you being an idiot?" the blonde questions, trying to find the logic behind her earlier statement. "If this Beca girl feels the need to play hero, then that's _her_ issue, not yours. Besides, you barely know her. What if it's just a coincidence, and she forgot something in class, or had to meet up for a study group? She could have gone _anywhere_ , so what makes you think - besides her previous act of valor with you - that she decided to just up and run, straight into a _three-alarm fire_?"

"I just… I-I just _know_ , okay?" Chloe exclaims, huffing with exasperation. "Because I could see it in her eyes! I could see it on her face! She… she had that same _exact_ look the night I got attacked, and I just know she's doing something stupidly reckless or brave… most likely _both_. And… oh, god! I should have stopped her!"

"Look, Chloe…" Aubrey sighs, pausing momentarily as she mulls over her words, "I know you feel like you owe this girl your friendship, or loyalty, whatever… and it's understandable. She saved your life, but that _doesn't_ make her your responsibility. You don't need to go running after her, especially if she's stupid enough to go running in the direction of danger!"

"I know, Aubrey. I _know_ ," the redhead murmurs, as she slows to a halt, bending over to catch her breath. "I just… I want to make sure she's okay. That's all."

Aubrey sighs again, knowing there's nothing she can say or do to stop the redhead. "Be careful," she eventually concedes, "And keep me updated."

They exchange a few more words before Chloe hangs up, her previous anxieties returning as she comes across the mass of onlookers. ' _Half the school must be here,'_ she thinks, nudging her way through the crowd, muttering apologies as she navigates a path towards the front. There, she is met by police barricade and an officer telling her that she can't go any further, which she immediately contends.

"No, _please_ ," she implores, putting years of high school theater and stage performance to good use as she lets her eyes slowly fill with tears, "My g-girlfriend, she has… she has classes in there with Dr. Powell! She was supposed to meet me for dinner when she got out, but she never showed… a-and now she isn't answering her phone! She isn't responding to my texts, none of our friends have _seen_ her, and-..."

"Okay, okay," the officer interjects, holding a hand up in the universal sign for 'calm down'. "Look, there were some people trapped inside who've just been pulled out. I can't guarantee your girlfriend will have been one of them, but let me bring you over and you can check."

(Frantic, crying female - works _every_ time.)

Chloe thanks him profusely, throwing in a choked sob for good measure as he lifts the yellow tape and lets her through. Hand on her shoulder, he leads her to where they'd set up triage, and she wastes no time in asking the nearest medic if she's seen a small brunette. She's given the run around, continuously told to talk to so-and-so, only to be directed to someone else the instant she finds them. It takes some time, but she finally locates someone who recognizes Beca by her description.

"I know exactly who you're talking about," the man nods, as he pauses his work to sanitize his hands and replace his gloves. "She rescued four people before the firefighters got to her. I treated her with some oxygen and told her to take a seat while I grabbed my things, but the instant I turned around, she was gone."

"Gone?" Chloe repeats, "Do you know where she went?"

"No, sorry," he says, frowning. "Like I said, all I did was turn around to grab a few things. When I looked back, she was nowhere to be found. Just… _poof_! Gone. Disappeared into thin air. Didn't even catch her name."

If she had had any doubts before, then this was all the proof she'd needed to confirm her suspicions. While she hasn't known her long - or very well, for that matter - this had Beca written all over it; there one second, and gone the next seemed to be her trademark move, and Chloe is at least comforted by the fact that she had been well enough to make an escape. Thanking the medic for his time, she whips out her phone to text Aubrey, contemplating what her next move will be.

* * *

Beca is still smouldering by the time she reaches her dorm, wisps of smoke and heat rising from her body as she digs her fingers under the grooves of the sill and yanks their window up. It had become a sort of unspoken rule between her and her roommate to keep it unlocked, if only because Kimmy Jin doesn't want the hassle of opening it every time she decides to come through - which, basically, is all the time.

(The first time Beca had been locked out, she had been caught in a late summer storm, and Kimmy Jin stared at her for ten minutes before finally relenting. "You looked like a wet dog begging to be brought in," was her deadpan remark. "It was really pathetic.")

Thankfully, Kimmy Jin has an event with the Korean Society tonight and had "politely" informed her that morning that she would be staying with a friend (how she has friends is beyond Beca, but she can't really be one to judge).The dorm is all hers for the night, and for that, Beca is grateful; after all, the other girl already thinks she's crazy as is, and coming back smelling like an ashtray really doesn't help her cause.

Beca keeps the window open and turns on her desk fan, hoping to air out the room as she gathers her toiletries into a shower caddy. The DJ reeks of smoke and is in desperate need of a thorough cleaning, already imagining how many washes it will take before her hair stops smelling like a discarded cigarette butt. She makes a mental note to febreeze the shit out of their dorm when she returns, and after slipping into her bathrobe, departs for the communal showers directly down the hall.

Although it's night, the hour is still early, and most students are either in evening classes, at dinner, acting as spectators at the fire, or otherwise occupied by the slew of activities Barden has to offer. Fortunately for Beca, that means the showers are completely empty and she won't be bothered by questioning stares, or worse, approached in some misguided theory that she needs aid.

 _Yes_ , her hands resemble overcooked pork chops, and _yes_ , a good portion of her body is covered in first and second degree burns, but no. _No_ , she does not need to see a doctor, and _no_ , she is not dying. For along with her enhanced physicality, Beca's powers include the strange - but certainly not unwelcome - ability to heal at incredible rates; whereas a normal person would take weeks to recover, she knows her injuries will be gone within a matter of days. Anything short of a bullet wound, or an amputated limb, she knows she can pretty much come back from with just a bit of rest and relaxation.

Still, that doesn't mean Beca is immune to pain, and as she strips off her robe to step beneath the lukewarm spray, she's forced to bite a fist in order to stifle her screams of agony. Now that the earlier adrenaline has faded, she is left to face the brunt of her damaged body alone, and she wishes more than anything that she had thought to take a few ibuprofen while still basking in the glow of her post-heroics high.

"Fuck," she groans, bracing herself against the tiled wall as water cascades down her aching form. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Beca slides to the floor, falling to her knees as she rests limply on the back of her calves, hacking up globs of what looks like black tar and the occasional clot of blood. Her lungs are most likely as damaged inside as she is on the outside, and it's only the knowledge of her accelerated healing that keeps her from completely freaking out. Even then, it's concerning to see, and she sits there for what seems like hours, letting the water wash away her numerous aches and pains.

Again, as she did earlier in the fire, Beca turns to music for comfort; she thinks of the new mix she's been arranging, remembers listening to it out on the quad before the insanity of the night had taken over her life. Titanium flashes through her mind, and not a moment later, she's singing along on shaky breath.

" _You shout it out, but I can't hear a word you say,_ " she manages to warble out, " _I'm talking loud, not saying much… I'm criticized, but all your bullets ricochet…_ " Beca's nerves are shot; she trembles beneath the weight of her body's anguish, and though her voice wavers, she belts the chorus, " _I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose… fire away, fire away. Ricochet, you take your aim… fire away, fire away. You shoot me down, but I won't-..._ "

"You _can_ sing!" someone cries, and for a long, terrifying moment, Beca swears her heart has stopped.

"Dude, no!" she eventually shrieks, lurching to her feet as she whips around and snags the shower curtain, using it as an impromptu shield to hide behind. "No!" Beca growls, one hand holding the curtain and the other shaking a stern finger at the overly giddy redhead, as if reprimanding an unruly puppy for having chewed the rug. "No, no, no. This is _NOT_ okay."

"How high does your belt go?" Chloe questions, eyes wide and lit up like Christmas morning.

"My… m-my _what_?" she squeaks, her own eyes wide, though for very much different reasons. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not wearing a belt! In fact, I'm kind of not wearing anything _at all!_ Because we are in the _shower_. And I am _naked_."

She stares, dumbfounded, at Chloe who stands in all her bare glory, hands proudly on her hips as she takes the situation in with an air of nonchalance. It takes a moment for this particular image to sink in, and then-...

"Oh. My. God. _Why_ are you naked too!?"

Beca instantly regrets turning down the rape whistle at the start of the year, squishing herself into the corner of the stall in a futile attempt at escape. For a split second, she considers giving herself away; it wouldn't take much for her to climb the wall, up and over the senior and out the door to safety. But the tiles are slick, and her hands bare the worst of her injuries, meaning it will be as physically traumatizing as this is mentally scarring.

She is, for better or worse, trapped.

' _What is the point of super senses if they don't work!?'_ she wails internally, clutching more tightly to the flimsy, plastic screen. Seriously, how was it possible for Chloe to keep surprising her like this? It shouldn't even be an _issue_ , though Beca strongly believes that this is more _Chloe's_ fault than her own.

"Oh, c'mon," Chloe scoffs, rolling her eyes as she reaches for Beca's shampoo and squeezes a generous amount into the palm of her hand. "We're both girls. It's not as if you haven't seen any of this stuff before."

"That… that is _so_ not the point!" Beca retorts, "This is a serious invasion of privacy, and a major violation against human decency! I… I am nude," she reiterates, "And apparently so are you."

"I think we've established the nudity," the senior laughs, as she gently forces a (very) reluctant Beca to turn her back towards her. Lathering the dollop of shampoo in her hands, the redhead gives it a quick whiff and smiles, releasing a pleased "ooh, jasmine!" as she tenderly works her fingers through Beca's hair.

" _What_ are you doing?" she hisses, indignantly. "And how are you even here right now?"

"I'm washing your hair, duh," Chloe answers, as though it's obvious. "And I followed you."

Beca recoils sharply. "I thought you said you weren't stalking me!"

"I'm _not_ ," she sighs, shaking her head at the freshman's superfluous need for dramatics. "When you ran off at dinner, I figured you were headed straight for the science building, and went after you. Only, when I got there, everyone I talked to said that you had disappeared, and since I don't have your number, or any other way of contacting you, I decided to just search the freshman dorms, level by level. I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

The brunette is oddly touched by her dedication, but says nothing of it as she asks, "And… how exactly does that lead to you barging into my shower unannounced?"

Chloe shrugs and pulls Beca back beneath the shower head, letting the water wash away the frothy remains and rinse out her hair. "I caught sight of you just as you stepped into the bathroom," she explains, now reaching for the conditioner. "I tried waiting outside, but you've been in here for like half an hour, and I started to get worried that you'd drowned or something. I came to investigate, and saw you kneeling in the shower…"

Her voice softens, a hint of gentle affection in her tone as she goes on, "You just looked so small, and so hurt… I really couldn't just stand there and watch you suffer all alone, especially after what you did for those people back at the fire. Not only did you deny credit for stepping in, but you denied yourself basic medical attention - which FYI is _really_ stupid - and I just… I wanted to help, in whatever way I could. And you looked exhausted, too tired to even wash yourself properly… so, I decided to do it for you."

"That is seriously creepy," Beca states rigidly, though she is quickly pacified with the way Chloe massages conditioner into her hair. "... but, it's also kind of nice - in a really weird, _not normal_ way - and as much as this makes me uncomfortable, I'm… kind of okay with this…"

"Totally called it," Chloe giggles, as she once again rinses her head. "You like to act all tough and badass on the outside, but inside, you're a real softie."

Beca doesn't comment, her eyes growing heavy as she slowly learns to relax, leaning unconsciously into the redhead's touch as she releases a soft hum of contentment. "Why are you doing this?" she asks instead, the weariness evident in her tone.

"I dunno," Chloe replies, offering only a shrug of her shoulders in answer. "I may be completely off with this assessment, but I just sort of assumed you're the type of person to step in where others can't, offering assistance to those that need it, and never asking for anything in return. I mean, that's at least how you were with me, and my theory on you was only reinforced by your actions during and after the fire today."

"You're always helping everyone else," she mumbles, smiling as Beca's eyes flutter shut beneath the ministrations of her hands; very similar to that of a puppy receiving its favorite head rub. "But wouldn't it be nice to let someone _else_ help _you_ for a change?"

Beca doesn't know what to say, let alone what to think. She had always been an independent spirit, and had learnt early on in life that the only person you could truly trust and rely on was yourself. She wasn't against giving help; in fact, she pretty much thrived on it (in her own ways), but when the tables were turned and she stood on the receiving end of it, things were a little different.

"Er, I guess…" she replies, eloquently.

Chloe grins but doesn't push it, instead waving Beca's shower pouf at her and warning, "This is probably gonna sting."

And it does. Beca has to refrain from letting loose a long string of expletives, cursing silently beneath her breath as the older girl gently scrubs her back and shoulders. Her body is tense, wound more tightly than a coiled spring, and Chloe frowns as she realizes that she's trembling.

"Hey, you were singing Titanium right?" she asks, in an attempt to distract her mind from the pain of her body.

Beca is, for lack of better word, surprised. "You… you know David Guetta?"

"Have I been living under a rock? Yeah!" Chloe gasps, cheerfully. "That song is my jam!" she exclaims, and then more playfully, "My _lady jam_."

Aaand they're back to creepy. "That's nice," Beca breathes, ducking her head shyly.

"It is," she insists, a gleeful smirk forming at her lips as she watches the brunette squirm. "The song really _builds…_ " Chloe hears a whispered, "gross!" but presses on, "Can you sing it for me?"

"What? Dude, no!"

"Ugh, not for that reason!" she shoots back, pulling a face. ' _Though, I wouldn't exactly say no if you offered…'_ she muses, watching the freshman fidget anxiously. "I just want to hear you sing again. Please?"

Beca tilts her head, watching the ginger over her shoulder as she considers the request. On one hand, she doesn't do live performances, preferring to sing in the quiet of her room or when she's otherwise alone; on the other, she gets the feeling that Chloe won't let up any time soon, and with their current situation as it is, extending their shower any further than necessary is definitely _not_ happening.

She caves.

" _I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose…"_ Beca makes it only to the second verse before she realizes someone else is singing along; Chloe's voice is higher in pitch, softer and sweeter in harmony, but melds flawlessly with her own. They sing the chorus, voices ebbing and flowing, and she's completely blown away by the near tangibility of the power their singing creates…

By the time they reach the end, Beca has turned and faces her fully, eyes locked heatedly with her own; searching their blue depths for something she can't quite define. Chloe beams, smiling from ear to ear, happy to let her find what she already knows is there.

* * *

 **A/N: Review, please and thank you!**


	5. Sweet Company

**A/N: Well, it's certainly been awhile! Sorry for the delay! I've been busy with other stories, and life in general, so this has taken a back seat for the past few months. It's a bit of a short chapter this time around, but I just wanted to let you guys know I'm still here, with every intention of continuing. Thanks for putting up with the wait, and I hope you enjoy my meager offering to you this day!**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Sweet Company**

"I really think that you should-..."

"No."

"But your hands-..."

"They're _fine_."

"It'll get infect-..."

" _Let it._ "

It's not often than Chloe Beale gets frustrated, but five minutes spent arguing with hardheaded Beca Mitchell, and she's beginning to understand why Aubrey's father is always spewing idioms about "picking one's battles". The freshman is as stubborn as a mule, more unyielding than a steel wall, and every attempt to suggest further aid is shot down on takeoff. At this point, she's beginning to think she stands a better chance of convincing herself that the moon is made of _cheese_ than persuading Beca into seeking medical aid.

"You look like a boiled lobster," she huffs, indignantly. Beca's skin is an amalgamation of every shade of red, from the flushed pink of her cheeks, to the dark, angry crimson of her hands, and the dusky rose that mottles every other inch of her flesh. In other words - _not pretty_.

"That is oddly specific," Beca replies dryly, voice muffled beneath the towel that Chloe drapes unceremoniously atop her head. "And slightly insulting."

"Yeah, well, it's _true_ …" the redhead murmurs, as she buffs the brunette's sodden locks. "Seriously, burns can be dangerous if they're not cleaned or treated properly. Aren't you even the _least_ bit worried they'll get worse?"

"I took a shower, didn't I?"

Chloe scoffs, tugging the towel down and draping it carefully around Beca's narrow shoulders. "I don't think that counts for nearly as much as you think it does," she sighs, shaking her head at the younger woman's obstinance.

Beca offers only a half-hearted shrug, ignoring the sting of her still raw flesh as it rubs against the fabric of her towel. "Better than nothing, right?" she asks, carelessly.

It's so close to nothing it may as well _be_ nothing, but Chloe decides not to push it, as much as she disagrees. "Fine, be that way," she states, crossing her arms assertively. "But if that's the game you want to play, then you'll have to let _me_ take care of you. You don't want to see a doctor? Okay then, but you're going to let me clean and wrap your wounds. No arguments, end of story."

The statement is just enough to give Beca pause; because if Chloe's idea of a helping hand consists of barging into her shower - butt naked, mind you - touching her (somewhat inappropriately) under the guise of "washing", and coercing her into singing a duet of said redhead's 'lady jam', then she's hesitant to learn what her definition of first aid entails. And frankly, judging by previous experience, she'd really rather not find out…

"Chloe, look. I… I'm not ungrateful for your help," she begins, adding a silent "per se" in her own head before continuing, "But you really, _really_ do not need to stick around any longer than you already have. I know it looks bad now, but I promise you that I'll be fine in a few days - a week tops! I've… uh, I've always been a naturally fast healer… so… erm, so yeah. You can go…"

Beca knows she's being awkward and blunt, but words have never been her strong point, and Chloe seems to find it strangely endearing; thus, she only feels mildly guilty for basically ordering her out, but then again, this is _her_ shower, and she has every right to privacy. Still, the slight pang in her chest - right around where her heart should be - is enough to stir further feelings of remorse, and so she quickly adds, "I appreciate what you've already done, but I can take it from here. You don't need to worry about me."

"But I want to."

The words pass her lips before she can even register what she's actually saying, said with such conviction, that even Chloe herself is momentarily taken aback. But she doesn't regret it; she means it more than she knows, repeating it again as she returns to her previous task, gently dabbing Beca's towel along the outer edges of her body. And to her relief, that is somehow just enough to soften the DJ's resolve.

She can't explain it, but something draws her to this girl - something inexplicable; like gravity, she's pulled into the brunette's orbit, and Chloe simply finds no desire to fight it. Beca is different; she doesn't fit into the usual mold, doesn't conform to any standard of what is prim or proper; she's a paradox - one moment she's strong, a brave soul in the face of danger, and the next she's soft, vulnerable, unsure of her own self. She's any number of things at any given time, layers of unknown, ready to be peeled back and revealed; a mystery that Chloe is, at all costs it seems, determined to solve.

"...-what about you?"

"Huh?" The question breaks through her reverie and Chloe blinks, letting the question sink in. "What about me?" she asks, curiously.

Beca averts her eyes, waving a hand at her in a sort of blundering flourish. "You're, um… you're wet too."

"Oh?" She glances down, taking in the beads of moisture that cling to her own damp flesh, and only then does she remember where they are and what they've been doing. "Oh, no worries," Chloe grins. "It's not that bad, mostly second hand spray. I just didn't want my clothes getting wet. But I don't mind, this is fine. Besides, I usually prefer to air dry when I can."

The freshman stiffens at the admission before relaxing, rolling her eyes in an expression of amused exasperation. "Of course you do," she breathes, shaking her head. "Why does that not surprise me?"

Chloe doesn't respond, at least not verbally, instead throwing a playful wink that immediately reverses what little progress they'd made in the whole 'naked conversation' department; what follows next is a flailing, blubbering mess as the DJ assures the Bella that she can finish drying herself, and then gently but firmly shoves her out of the stall. For a moment, Chloe doesn't react, blinking back the confusion as she watches the shower curtain spread impossibly wider, until both ends are pressed on either end of the tiled booth.

Eventually, she laughs it off, snorting into her hand as she listens to Beca clamor for her things while fumbling to keep the thin plastic veil up between them. "You're so cute," she remarks, earning herself a flustered, " _please put your clothes back on!_ " and the younger woman's towel, which is flung at her from over the curtain.

Deciding that a heart attack would be counterintuitive to her efforts in helping Beca heal, Chloe decides to do as told, folding the towel around her torso as she returns to the bench where she'd left her things. Dressing quickly, she turns and is met by the sight of a now robe-clad brunette, who is standing guardedly against the wall with one hand held protectively over her eyes.

"Is it safe?" she asks, voice wavering with hesitation.

Cerulean eyes roll upwards in exasperation as thin lips twitch with amusement; Chloe reaches forth and gently takes Beca by the hand, tugging it down to reveal her now - _thankfully_ \- clothed figure. The younger student exhales loudly, breathing a sigh of relief as she moves to shuffle past.

"Well, come on then, I guess," Beca murmurs, nodding her head in a 'follow me' sort of gesture. Dutifully, Chloe does as told, following a short step behind as she's led out of the showers and down the hall to her room. The key is shoved roughly into the lock as Beca manhandles the door open, allowing her guest to enter first before kicking it shut behind them.

"Sorry for the mess," she apologizes, shoving her supply caddy into the closet and moving to grab her clothes off the floor, which she'd left in her haste to leave for the showers. "I wasn't really expecting anyone…"

"Don't worry about it," Chloe smiles, waving it off as she stands to the side, pretending not to notice as Beca gathers her mess and shoves it beneath her bed. "Did you want me to turn around while you changed, or-...?"

"I mean, you've already seen it all already," Beca laughs awkwardly, "But yeah, if you don't mind… could you just, like… face the door for a second?" She watches as the senior turns around, allowing herself a few cautionary moments before hastily pulling on dark grey sweats and a tank top. "Thanks, you can take a seat if you want."

"No problem!" she cheerfully exclaims, bounding over now that Beca has given her the all clear to approach. "Sooo… about those burns," she begins, plopping onto the bed beside the DJ, who bounces slightly from the impact. "I really think you should let me take a look at them now."

Beca groans but relents, resting her hands palm side up on her knees as she finally lets Chloe inspect them. Although still very much fresh, the wounds are far less significant than when she'd first received them; the blood is clotted, skin raw and tender, but mending. It's exactly as she'd expected, her body's natural regenerative ability expediting the healing process to mere days, rather than weeks.

Chloe's brows furrow in question as she examines the extent of the damage, baffled by the noticeably diminished injuries. She could have sworn they were far more mangled in the showers, and though Beca's hands are still grave in appearance, they aren't quite as distressing as she'd originally thought. Dismissing it as poor lighting in the stall, the redhead glances about the room, searching for a first aid kit or something similar.

"Do you have anything I can clean these with?" she asks, as Beca nods and points her in the direction of a plastic storage container. Expecting to find maybe a pack of bandages and some ointment, Chloe is instead surprised to find the entire tub filled to the brim with various medical supplies; pads of gauze in all shapes and sizes, compressive bandages, adhesive tape, suture kit, bottles of sterile water and peroxide - even an IV line and bags of saline. "What the… _oh my_ _god_ … no wonder you didn't need to go to the hospital - you've already got the hospital here! What, are you preparing for the _apocalypse_ or something!?"

Beca's cheeks light up, lips straining into a sheepish grin. "No, I just… you know how it is," she mumbles, "Anxious mother, only child's first time away from home, thinks I'll die without her…" Truthfully, she'd bought it all herself, what with the sort of trouble she constantly stumbles her way into, but she isn't about to admit that out loud. One, because it was kind of embarrassing, and two (and most importantly) because of the questions it would no doubt bring up.

"Wow," chuckles Chloe, "All _my_ mom gave me was the number to our doctor, and a reminder to call home at least once a week." Making her way back to the bed, she sets down the necessary material and sets to work, ripping open an alcohol pad and gently cleansing Beca's hand.

"Fuck," she breathes, jaw clenching as it sends ripples of pain shooting up her arms, jolting her nerves like bolts of lightning.

"Sorry," Chloe apologizes, offering a sympathetic smile as she grabs a fresh wipe and repeats the process on her other hand. "I know it hurts now, but it'll help you out in the long run."

"I hate the long run," Beca grumbles, teeth clamped. "I hate _any_ run… short run, long run, medium run… hate it all," she grits out, which isn't entirely true; she loves running, so long as it leads to leaping off twenty foot precipices and the tops of buildings, but her mood is on the decline the further her pain increases. It takes all her power not to shove Chloe through the wall in aggravation (and there's no question now whether or not she can), but Beca reminds herself that she's only helping, chanting it silently to herself like a personal mantra.

"I'm almost done," the Bella assures, smearing a generous dollop of antibacterial cream onto her wounds, careful not to create friction as she smooths it into Beca's skin for proper absorption. "Let me just wrap these up, and then we'll be finished." Layering pads of gauze atop the more damaged portions of her hands, Chloe wraps them in roller bandage, securing it tightly enough to prevent it coming undone, but not so much as to cut off her circulation.

"Good as new," Beca jests, flexing her fingers as she inspects the redhead's handiwork.

"Well, not entirely," Chloe corrects, as she gathers the leftover supplies to put away, "But with the right start, it's on its way."

The younger student nods appreciatively as she reaches for the shelf above her, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen from her stash of medicine. Breaking the seal, she pops two into her mouth and wiggles her way off the bed, retrieving a bottle of water from the mini fridge beneath her desk. Washing down the pills, she releases a heavy sigh of relief, eagerly anticipating the reprieve it will give to her sore and aching limbs.

"Want a drink?" she offers, figuring it's the least she can do in return for Chloe's kindness. "I don't have any booze, but there's coke, gatorade, water… I think a redbull or two somewhere in the back."

"A water would be nice," Chloe replies, catching it with a startled yelp as the beverage is tossed underhand, nearly throwing her off balance. "Ooh, whoa… looks like you didn't lose any strength in those hands at all."

"Sorry," Beca repents, chuckling shyly as she makes her way back. "I didn't mean to throw it that hard. Anyway, uh… I guess this makes us even now, huh?"

"As if," the ginger scoffs, uncapping her bottle and taking a sip. "You saved my _life_! All I did was sing to you in the shower and wrap your hands in bandage. I hardly consider that _even_."

"Nah, I'm… I'm pretty sure it was the other way around," the DJ insists, mouth curving with a roguish smirk. "As I recall, _you_ were the one to ask _me_ to sing to you - though pressured would probably be the more appropriate term."

"You know what? I think you may have a fever," Chloe deduces, placing her hand delicately atop Beca's forehead. "Or maybe you inhaled too much smoke… oh, yeah. You're definitely warm - you must be delusional."

"I'm not delusional," she defends, gently swatting the offending hand. "You're just in denial."

"Funny," the older woman muses, azure eyes twinkling with unseen mischief, "I thought I was in Barden."

"What…?" It takes Beca few moments to catch on, but when she does, she very nearly reconsiders throwing Chloe through that wall. "Oh my god," she groans, as the senior cracks a grin, "You did _not_ just make that joke…"

"Like I said," she teases playfully, "You're definitely delusional."

Beca's eyes slant, narrowing at the other woman in contempt, who only returns the glare with a smug grin. They hold each other's gaze for several moments, neither willing to relent, until the freshman's lips give an involuntary twitch and Chloe cries out in victory. "Shut up, it means nothing," she grunts, arms crossed in a desperate attempt to fight the smile they both know is coming.

Chloe lets her off in favor of redirecting the conversation, having sought and now found the perfect transition into something she's wished to speak about since the showers; since she first heard Beca's melodic voice echo off those tiled walls, reverberating in her ears and resonating with her soul. "Since we're on the topic of singing," she begins, tentatively, "I wanted to ask if you might reconsider auditioning for the Bellas?"

Beca recoils instantly, as if the mere _idea_ is painful itself, and shakes her head in adamant refusal. "No," she states, bluntly.

"Oh, come on!" Chloe pleads, lower lip jutting in a pout. "You don't even have to join! Just audition first, and see how you like it. Your voice is amazing - _seriously!_ \- and the Bellas would really benefit from having you on the team. Besides, given the chance, I really think it's something you'd enjoy…"

" _Please_ ," Beca snorts, "I think _you're_ the one who's delusional now. Seriously, you can beg all you want, but there's _no way_ that I'm joining an acapella group."

* * *

She's joining an acapella group.

Or, at least, she's very much considering it as she dangles above the auditorium one week later, lurking from the rafters as she watches yet another performance of Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone". As if it isn't bad enough that she let her father coerce her into attending Barden, he's now forced her to join a club in exchange for his financial aid in moving to LA. With a shake of her head, Beca settles onto a crossbeam, knees pulled to her chest as she continues to watch auditions.

Loathe as she is to admit, there's some real talent hidden amongst the group of acapella hopefuls; unfortunately, there's also many more who are mediocre at best, and even some who leave Beca with the unrelenting desire to rip out her own ears and stomp them to pieces. Vaguely she wonders how Chloe puts up with it, and for a brief moment, allows her eyes to wander away from the stage. Instantly, she zeroes in on the familiar figure, her fiery red mane standing out vividly amongst the palate of blacks, browns, and blondes.

In spite of herself, Beca feels her lips tug into a small, affectionate grin; she finds it funny how things can change in a single week, how she can go from total recluse to social caterpillar (butterfly being too extreme) in the span of a few short days - all thanks in part to Chloe. Together, they'd had coffee twice, met for breakfast off campus once, and she'd even let herself be convinced into attending her dorm hall's annual mixer the night before.

She figures if she's going to join any club, it may as well be the same one as Chloe - even _if_ the idea of acapella still makes her skin crawl, and her stomach churn…

Beca sits through a dozen more auditions, mulling over the idea in her head; she's still hesitant on whether or not this is what she really wants ( _it's not_ ), but the choice is all but ripped from her hands when it's announced that tryouts are now finished, and everyone slowly begins to trickle out. Her heart sinks as she realizes she's missed her chance, and she's just about to run off, hoping she isn't too late to attend the Comic Book Club meeting, when she notices that neither Chloe nor her friend have left yet.

Seizing the opportunity, Beca crawls down from the ceiling and hurries her way backstage, emerging from the side door with a shy, awkward wave. The blonde stares her down, scrutinizing her every move, but Chloe beams and excitedly motions for her to come forward.

"Uhm, I didn't know we had to prepare that song," she says, slowly walking towards the edge of the stage. Truthfully, she'd figured out by the third time around that it wasn't some weird coincidence that everyone just so happened to sing the same song, but if she was forced to listen to it one more time - let alone _sing it_ \- Beca swears she'll go insane.

"Oh, that's okay!" Chloe assures, shaking her head, "Sing anything you want!"

"May I?" she asks, indicating to the yellow cup they'd set up as a pencil holder. Given the go ahead, Beca carefully tips the cup and allows the pens and pencils to slide out before settling down into a cross-legged position, anxiously preparing herself for her performance. She'd once gone through a phase in high school where she had obsessed over online tutorials of instruments and songs, stumbling across a video that had incorporated the cup game in place of percussions, and - for whatever reason - it had stuck with her throughout the years.

Clap, clap; tap, tap; clap, tap, shift. Her hands cycle through the familiar motions, taking her back to those long and lonely days spent practicing her music as she watched, hidden atop buildings or nestled in the safety of treetops, as the other students milled about at lunch. Beca had felt alienated all her life, a small voice in the back of her head always telling her that she didn't belong - that she wasn't like everyone else; after her parents' divorce, and especially after the manifestation of her powers, those feelings of isolation had only grown, and the longing carries in her voice as she begins to sing.

" _I've got my ticket for the long way round, two bottles of whiskey for the way,"_ she croons, voice quivering as she reaches the next line, " _And I sure would like some sweet company, and I'm leaving tomorrow - what'd you say?_

" _When I'm gone,"_ she belts, keeping tempo with the beat, " _When I'm gone. You're gonna miss me when I'm gone. You're gonna miss me by my hair, you're gonna miss me everywhere, oh… you're gonna miss me when I'm gone."_

Beca gives a final clap-tap combo and sets the cup down, a sense of finality hanging in the air as she tucks her hands between her knees and nervously awaits their judgement. Chloe stares up at her, face alight with joy as her lips stretch from ear to ear in a bright eyed smile, and Beca feels the tight knot in her gut loosen. But then she looks at the other woman - Aubrey, if she remembers correctly - and the knot clinches beneath her irksome glare, anxiety rearing to the forefront as the blonde offers only a frown in response.

As she's dismissed, Beca wonders if she's just made a huge mistake.

* * *

 **I'd love to hear your thoughts - reviews are always appreciated!**

 **You can find me on tumblr at: the-effin-mitchell**


	6. Aca-Initiation

**A/N: So, thought I'd try something new... how do you guys feel about shorter chapters in exchange for quicker updates, rather than longer chapters with longer waits? Hopefully, this way is a little more efficient in getting the story out. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Aca-Initiation**

Beca's definitely made a mistake.

Just when she thinks her life can't get any more strange, it does, taking the plunge from weird to downright bizarre in an unusual turn of events. She auditions for what she believes to be an acapella group, and somehow finds herself joining a _cult_ instead. The darkened room is illuminated by the light of several dozen candles - enough to be considered a major fire hazard - and if the deep, bass like moans chanting in the background are anything to go by, she's fairly certain her soul is about to be offered up in some ritualistic sacrifice to Satan. (Or maybe Lady Gaga - one or the other…)

"The sopranos," she hears Aubrey announce, "Jessica, Mary Elise, Lily." There's a short pause, and Beca shifts uncomfortably beneath the cloth draped loosely over her head. "The mezzos… Cynthia Rose, Stacie, Kori. And our altos… Fat Amy, Denise, Ashley, and Beca."

The DJ gasps with relief as she's finally released, nose crinkling and lips twisting in revolt as she takes in their surroundings. Though her senses had painted a clear mental picture of the situation and its environment, seeing it with her own two eyes is a completely different experience altogether, and only solidifies her beliefs that she's been duped into becoming the newest member of some extreme religious faction.

"We shall begin," Aubrey continues, reverently lifting a chalice, which she then hands solemnly to Chloe, "by drinking the blood of the sisters that came before you."

"Dude, _no_!" she exclaims, eyes widening as she glances towards the other recruits, silently pleading with them for some sort of aid. They only shrug in response, and Beca can feel her stomach clench in revolt; was she seriously expected to drink _blood_? Like, had _none_ of these women heard of HIV?

"Don't worry," Chloe whispers, offering her an assuring wink. "It's Boones Farm."

Hesitantly, Beca takes the drink bestowed before her and reluctantly raises the glass to her lips; with an encouraging nod from the older Bellas, she takes a tentative sip and is relieved to find that it is, in fact, only Boones Farm. Handing it back, she watches - still somewhat wary - as Chloe moves on down the line, until each new member had drunk from the cup. Returning it to its place in the center of their altar (because that's what it is - an _altar_ ), the senior takes the yellow scarves laid out before them and distributes it amongst the inductees, giving the brunette's hand an affectionate squeeze as she presents her with her own.

Retreating to her position behind the table, Chloe gently instructs, "Now, if you'll place your scarves in your right hand…"

Aubrey watches like a hawk, and once confident they've done as told, takes over. "I, sing your name…"

Beca doesn't sing her name so much as she speaks it in a higher pitch, wincing as her fellow newbies trill their response, loudly and out of key - or, in the case of the soft spoken Asian, whisper into the cloth what she believes to be (but desperately hopes isn't), " _Lily, Harbinger of Death."_ She barely has enough time to process before Aubrey is once again addressing them, reciting an oath better suited to an army at war than a group of woman singing collegiate acapella.

Regardless of her personal opinion, Beca repeats Aubrey's words, though it comes out less of a statement and more like a question when she pledges abstinence from all Treblemakers, lest her "vocal cords be ripped out by wolves". Though she knows she won't be having any issues in that specific department, it's still an odd condition to have tacked onto their oath, and she can clearly see that everyone else is a little confused by it as well. ' _Oh well,'_ she thinks, ' _Their problem, not mine.'_

Abruptly, the lights flicker on and the chanting stops (where had it even _come_ from?), and Aubrey's face splits into a thin-lipped smile, stiff but proud as she declares, "You are all Bellas now."

The room erupts in sound as the newest members break out in cheers, and Beca cringes as she's swept up in a group hug, everyone gathering together in a celebratory embrace. She breaks free almost immediately, clutching her scarf to her body defensively as a tall, leggy brunette - she thinks her name is Stacie? - leans into her, shrinking back as her face is very nearly introduced to the taller woman's ample breasts.

Assuming that they are finished, Beca scurries for the door, eager to regain her precious personal space; she's two steps from freedom when a hand lands atop her shoulder, effectively stopping her in her tracks, and it takes everything the DJ has not to react violently. ' _So close,'_ she mourns, silently. ' _So close, and yet so far…'_

"Where do you think _you're_ going?"

Turning to face to her captor, Beca stumbles for words. "I was just… I thought we were done. And I was going to... I mean… err, I have… homework?" she manages anxiously to spit out. (Honestly, she hasn't done a single assignment since school started, but no one really needs to know that, and it's really the only plausible excuse she can currently think of.)

"As much as I… _admire_ your dedication to schoolwork," Aubrey claims, her words clearly insincere, "We aren't done here quite yet. You have been newly inaugurated into the Bella's sacred sisterhood, and as is custom, we must partake in Aca-Initiation Night, to celebrate with our fellow aca-brethren the continuation of our musical bloodlines."

Brethren? Bloodlines? If she'd had any doubts before, they're gone now; Beca is 100% positive that she's now in a cult. ' _Join a club, he said. It'll be fun, he said,'_ she snarks, silently. ' _Thanks a lot, dad…'_

"Oh, okay. Yeah…" she nods, gently slipping out from beneath her hand. "Totally, sounds… aca-awesome. Guide the way!" Side-stepping the blonde senior, she gestures for her to take the lead; Aubrey's eyes narrow at her skeptically, but finding nothing to suspect, she merely sniffs her nose at her and motions for everyone to follow.

With a silent sigh of relief, Beca falls in line with the other Bellas and trails after their new leader (Fuhrer, dictator, overlord - the words are interchangeable). Fortunately, there's no need for them to travel that far as they simply exit through the back of the music building and into an outdoor auditorium, where members of the other acapella groups have already begun to party.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she groans, as she glances about the arena. Music thumps loudly in the background, intermingling with the raucous chatter of the students; it's sensory overload, too much commotion for her heightened senses, and already she can feel the beginning stages of what she knows will only lead to a powerful migraine. Still, Beca figures she can tough it out long enough to socialize with her new teammates, and to enjoy a cup or two of the cheap - _but most importantly, free_ \- booze.

"Beca!" Suddenly, from the crowd, a familiar voice calls out to her. "Beca! Becaaaw!"

The freshman smirks as she watches her fellow intern climb his way up the stadium, clambering over concrete benches and nearly toppling over once or twice in his clumsy haste. It's painfully clear that Jesse is inebriated, and she can smell the alcohol on his breath as he finally stumbles within range, panting in drunken exertion.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or are you a Barden Bella?" he grins, eyes gleaming with smug amusement.

"Shut up," she grumbles, half-heartedly. Beca had done nothing during their long shifts at the station but rip on him for wanting to join the Treblemakers, and here she was now, a member of the opposing group. "Are you okay?" she asks, redirecting the conversation to something that was far less embarrassing for herself. "You're really drunk, you know that? I don't think you're gonna remember any of this."

"I'm not drunk," Jesse protests, though his smile clearly says he knows he is. "You're just blurry."

Beca laughs and shakes her head, playfully pushing him as he rocks back and forth unsteadily on his feet. It was funny, but once he'd stopped hitting on her, she'd found Jesse ten times more tolerable than when they'd first met, and had even come - on occasion - to enjoy his company (so long as he wasn't going off on one of his infamous movie rants). They chat for a few more minutes, swapping stories about initiation, and then he departs, promising to return with drinks. She barely has enough time to catch her breath before she's approached again, this time by Chloe, who bounds towards her like an excitable puppy.

"Hey!" she greets breathlessly, slipping her hands around Beca's as she tugs her forward. "I'm _so_ glad that I met you. I think we're gonna be really fast friends."

Beca, taken aback by the close proximity, blurts the first thing to come to mind. "But aren't we already?" Realizing that makes her sound presumptuous, she flounders to make it right. "Uhh… I don't mean to assume. What I _meant_ to say is that... er, well, you saw me _naked_ ," she winks, attempting to save face despite the growing blush, warm and unpleasant, creeping its way steadily up her neck.

"I _did_ ," Chloe laughs, leaning upwards as she pulls Beca further down, until their foreheads rest against one another. "And we _are_ ," she assures, releasing the brunette's hands in favor of wrapping her arms around her neck, further deepening the embrace. "I just think that we're going to be really close, or… at least, that's what I'm hoping for. I like you. I like hanging out with you. I like getting to see the real you - the one hidden behind this wall of badassery that you've built up around yourself."

"Wall of badassery?" Beca mimics, brows raised high in question, and despite her discomfort, she's unable to repress the small smile that teases her lips.

"Oh, shush!" Chloe replies, shaking her gently with false aggravation. "I'm trying to make a point here!" The freshman grins curiously and nods, imitating the zipping of her lips and throwing away the key, which earns her a playful slap to the shoulder. "Anyway, I guess what I'm really saying is that I think you and I have a connection. I don't know if it's because you saved my life, or if it's because I just find you intriguing… all I know is that I want to know you, and… and I kind of hope you want that too?"

Not for the first time, Beca finds herself taken aback by Chloe's forwardness; she'd grown accustomed to life in the background, was used to being no more than a side-character in the story of other people's lives. Rarely did she find herself at the center of someone else's attention, and in the few previous instances where she'd been befriended, no one had stuck around long enough to break past her defenses. A part of her, the part buried deep inside her walls of mistrust and her barriers of doubt, yearns for the companionship Chloe so willingly offers. But the other part of her - the realist, the reason for all those walls and barriers, the one who's learnt time and time again that no one can be trusted - warns her to be wary.

Unsure of what to make of it, Beca releases a soft laugh of uncertainty. "Uh, ditto…" she only says, before mentally berating herself for such a stupid response. ' _Ditto? Seriously?'_ she scolds, ' _What are you, a Pokemon!?'_

Fortunately, Chloe doesn't seem to notice her apprehension, and squeals delightedly as she tightens the hug, nearly sending Beca toppling over the bench and down into the row below with her. She somehow manages to remain upright, awkwardly returning the embrace as she pats a hand atop the ginger's head.

"Okay, well I should let you go and enjoy the party," she says, finally releasing her of her hold. "This ginger needs her jiggle juice! I'll see you later!"

"Make good choices!" she calls lamely after her, still reeling from the senior's earlier declaration. However, she has little time dwell on it as Jesse returns not a moment later, glancing back and forth between Beca and the retreating redhead, a curious expression written across his face as he hands the DJ her promised beverage.

"Hey, who was that?" he asks, gulping a mouthful of his drink.

"Oh, that's Chloe. She's… she's just a friend," Beca replies quietly, cautiously inspecting the contents of her cup. Taking a hesitant sip, she fights back the wave of nausea that washes through her, nearly gagging at the horrendous taste. "Dude, the fuck'd you put in here? Motor oil and bleach?"

"Maybe, I dunno," Jesse shrugs, taking another hearty gulp. "I can't really taste anything anymore, so I sort of just threw whatever I could find together. And that Chloe chick… you sure she's just a friend? You two were looking _pretty_ cozy by my eye."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" she retorts, raising her hand.

The Treblemaker squints, leaning forward for closer inspection. "Pfft!" he eventually cries, "That's a trick question! You're not holding any up."

Beca's brows pinch, face scrunched in bemusement as her gaze darts back and forth between Jesse and her opened palm, exposing all four fingers and thumb. " _Yeahhh…_ " she drawls out, "I don't trust your eye right now."

"I know what I saw," he insists, words beginning to slur; Jesse wavers where he stands, knees trembling beneath the weight of his drunken haze, and it's only through Beca's lightning fast reflex that he doesn't go tumbling down the stairs. Deciding that he's had more than enough to drink, she rips the cup from his hand and pours it onto the concrete, ignoring his whines of protests for " _wasting perfectly good booze"_.

"I think it's time for you to call it a night," she declares, slinging his arm over her shoulder, letting Jesse slump against her as she all but lifts his dead weight up the steps towards the top of the auditorium. "You know Luke isn't going to be happy if you come in tomorrow, late and hungover," she reasons, as he mumbles his objection into her shoulder.

"Screw Luke," he murmurs, irately. "Him and his stupid, perfect abs… and his stupid British accent… and his… his stupid f-face…" Beca snorts at his drunken ramble and continues to carry him away, never once noticing the pair of emerald greens trained intently on their departure.

Nor does she see the darkened silhouette, guarding from the shadows.

* * *

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	7. Midnight, Morning Rendezvous

**A/N: So, that whole short chapter/short update thing didn't seem to pan out so well for me. I can't really make any promises on when updates will come out, but I will do my best to get them out to you all in a timely manner. Thanks for all your patience thus far! Also, as we're sort of getting to that point in the fic now, I just want to remind you all that I'm not an expert on comic book lore, and a lot of what I write doesn't necessarily stick true to the original story lines. It's a combination of the Spiderman/Marvel multi-verse stories all rolled into one, with certain aspects taken from the movies and TV shows as well. So just a little heads up if you're like a die-hard fan of the comics - it's not going to be accurate to what you know.**

 **BUT, this is first and foremost a PP fic, so it will still follow the plotline and whatnot throughout the rest of the movie. I mold the story to fit the Pitch Perfect universe, and not the other way around. Anyway, enough chatter. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Midnight, Morning Rendezvous**

A rustle of leaves, a scramble of dirt - unseen and barely heard.

Beca tenses as she pauses in her walk; deliberately, her eyes narrow as she cautiously tilts her head, glancing over her shoulder towards the source of the noise. Patiently, she waits, expecting the tell-tale tingle to alert her that danger is near. She knows she's an easy target; after all, it's a college campus and she's a woman, alone and unescorted after leaving a party that undoubtedly served alcohol. If she were anyone else, she'd be scared, but being who she is - being _what_ she is - Beca is less frightened than she is annoyed.

Still, that doesn't mean she can't be careful, and she spreads her senses, probing for some sign of an intruder. She waits several moments, taking in the quiet evening air; there's a dull ache at the base of her skull - which she attributes to the earlier (absolutely _vile_ ) concoction supplied by Jesse - but nothing like the usual prickle of alarm to warn her of impending peril. Although perfectly capable of defending herself, Beca decides to err on the side of caution and changes direction, slipping off between buildings where she scales the wall five storeys towards the safety of the rooftops.

From her vantage point, she can see all of Barden's campus, the rolling hills of green spread before her like carpet before a king, with nearby Atlanta's skyline bordering the horizon; for a moment, she allows herself to stare out across the dark expanse of buildings and streetlights, drinking in the view with all its streaks of black, dotted with whites and yellows, reds and greens. This, she believes, is her natural element, where she belongs - hovering above the rest of society, not as a superior, but as an observer, and an intercessor. It is, after all, where she feels most comfortable, most free to be herself - powers and all.

Returning her attention towards the search for her potential assailant, Beca scours the grounds below, eying every bush and tree one might consider hiding behind. Neither her physical senses, nor her supernatural attributes are able to detect even the slightest hint of danger, and so she has no choice but to relent in her pursuit of this hidden adversary. Chalking it up to a figment of her imagination, Beca eyes the next building over and prepares to leap, muscles coiling like a spring before launching herself towards its roof.

The freshman is struck mid-air, warning bells exploding in her mind _milliseconds_ before it hits; she never sees it coming - all she sees is the echo of a shadow, an atrocious glow of pink winking into existence behind her as she's hit squarely in the back. It doesn't hurt so much as it stuns her, and Beca flies downward with accelerated force. She lands haphazardly atop her intended building, skidding along the coarse patch of shingles, though she's given little time to recover. From behind comes a whistle, so low it's almost inaudible, but it's growing louder fast - and _faster_ still.

Throwing herself to her feet, Beca spins on the heel of her boots, catching sight of several metallic glints headed directly for her. With dexterity unknown to even the most elite of athletes, she reaches out and catches two of the knives by their handles, wielding them for her own self as she parries the remaining incoming blades.

Hurling them to the floor, Beca raises her arms, crossing them above her head just as a cloudy burst of pink flares to life, and a dark figure descends upon her. Blocking the downward kick, she retaliates with an upward knee, sinking it into thin air as her attacker stumbles back. Growling with obvious frustration, the brunette lashes out, fists flying left and right as she attempts to land even a single hit. With practiced ease, her opponent dodges nimbly, which only serves to further aggravate the already furious DJ.

"Who the _hell_ do you think you are?" she demands between breaths, grimacing as she's bashed harshly across the face. Staggering backwards, Beca shakes off the pain and takes a second to assess her mysterious foe, hands once held in defense dropping with disbelief as she finally takes in their appearance. "Oh, for fuck's sake! You've _got_ to be shitting me!" she exclaims, wondering - not for the first time - why the universe insists on making her its bitch.

Apparently joining a cult isn't enough trauma for one night, because there, standing before her is a goddamn _ninja_ \- black dogi, face mask, headband and all.

"What did I ever do to you!?" she groans, as they press the offensive, forcing her to defend against the onslaught of attacks. Accustomed to thugs and otherwise untrained, non-super powered individuals, Beca finds herself woefully unprepared to take on someone fairly capable of fighting back, and is desperately outclassed as she struggles to keep up with their higher level of skill.

Somehow, she ends up as the ball in a one-sided game of ping pong, as the ninja - _god, that sounds weird even in her own mind_ \- teleports from one side of the roof to other, kicking her back and forth. Beca can do nothing else but grit her teeth and endure, wincing as her already battered ribs are smashed in, eliciting a wounded cry from her bruised lips. Abruptly, she's picked up and flung into the air, eyes widening as she's engulfed in the strange pink glow; for a brief moment, she feels nothing at all - weightless and free - but in the next instant, she swears every nerve in her body is lit on fire.

" _Ohh_ , that's going to hurt in the morning," she wheezes, as she's dropped directly onto the street, plummeting twenty feet onto the hard asphalt below. Rolling onto her hands and knees, Beca braces herself against the concrete, hardly bothering to glance up as two feet step into view. "Is that all you got?" she taunts, against her better judgement.

' _I'm an idiot,'_ she immediately thinks, as she's snatched up by the collar of her shirt and ripped upwards onto her feet. Fierce green eyes gleam radiantly, standing out vividly amongst the sea of black that surrounds their face, and Beca marvels silently at the unearthly glow. She has but a moment to contemplate its uniqueness when something sharp - needlelike and thin - pierces the skin of her shoulder; it's a pinch at best, but the fear of what could possibly be injected into her system is enough to send every instinct she has into fight mode.

Beca tilts back and then launches forward, slamming her skull into the forehead of her opponent; they meet with a resounding crack, and she uses their surprise and disorientation to her advantage. Releasing herself from their grip, she slams her fists into them in quick succession, nailing them with a gut wrenching uppercut, followed by a searing elbow across the jaw. But she doesn't stop there, going on to clobber her adversary with a right hand, left cross, right hook combo. Beca is just about to deliver the final blow, rearing back for a straight left, when they lurch forward, slipping back into her personal space as they snatch back the needle still embedded into her.

She just catches a glimpse of the tube before they're gone, blinking out of sight in that obnoxious hue, and the realization of what it contains nearly hits harder than her attacker. As she lays a hand atop the wound, massaging away the pain, Beca can't help but wonder, ' _What the hell would anyone want with my blood?'_

* * *

How did she get here?

She's lying half-asleep, tangled in her bed sheets, arms flung wide; sleep sits on her eyelids, but slowly begins to melt in the sunrise as morning light filters in through the window. From the haze of random thoughts comes some semblance of order - a subtle awareness of herself and her surroundings. Beca curls inwards, groaning as her muscles ache with protest, and shifts restlessly in an attempt to find a more comfortable position.

Finding her pillow lumpy, she grumbles quietly and scoots a bit to the side, rearranging her head until it rests on something firmer. With a soft sigh of content, Beca nestles into its warmth, musing quietly to herself at the oddity of that thought. How could her pillow be warm? Sure, it could absorb and radiate the heat of her own body, but this felt less residual and more… _human_ …?

"Good morning, sunshine," a sultry voice murmurs into her ear.

Beca's eyes snap open, and promptly shrieks as she's greeted to the sight of a strange woman lying casually in her bed. She quickly recognizes those hazel eyes, and brown hair streaked with blonde, which only elicits a _second_ shriek from her as she jerks back in surprise. For a time there's nothing but silence, punctuated only by the unintelligent babble that her mouth insists on blurting out.

"S-Stacie?" she ultimately stammers, "That's… that's your name, right?"

"Yep!" she confirms, smiling brightly. "And you're Beca."

"Yeah, that's uh… that's me," the smaller woman replies, clutching the blankets to her chest. "Not to be rude, but what are you doing in my bed? And… and, oh my god… are you _naked_!?" She takes in the other freshman's bare shoulders, and after checking that _she herself_ is still clothed, flings the covers over her instead. Seriously, what was _with_ this school? There had been nothing in the brochure to inform her that Barden was a campus of nudists, nor had her father warned her that clothing was "option only". This isn't what she (didn't) sign up for!

Tilting her head, Stacie stares down at her in thinly veiled amusement, lips quirked into a gentle smile as she explains, "First off, this is _my_ room. And second… _again_ , this is my room, and I find sleeping nude is the best way to get a full night's rest. Seriously, don't knock it till you try it!"

"This… this is _your_ room?" Beca repeats, wild eyed and confused as she finally takes in her environment, only to realize that it is - in fact - _not_ her room. "What? But… but, wait. I don't understand… how did I end up in your room and not mine?"

"I brought you here, _duh_!" Stacie shrugs coolly, as though that explains everything; instead, it only opens up a new can of worms for Beca to try and sort out.

"Okay, but _why_ did you bring me here?" she asks, before hesitantly adding, "We didn't, uhm… y'know… we didn't do _it_ , right?"

"What?" Stacie's brows crinkle momentarily with confusion, but laughs and shakes her head when she understands the question. "Oh, no! I mean…" her eyes trail wickedly over Beca's body, "I'd _definitely_ hit that, but I have a policy against doing it when the second party involved is unconscious or otherwise unable to participate properly in the affair. I mean, it's just bad practice, y'know?"

There's a number of things Beca can think of in response to that statement (particularly the last bit), but she figures it's best to keep on track and only ask questions directly related to her and the situation she finds herself in now. Instead, she steers the conversation in the direction she wants it to go, asking skeptically,"What do you mean by unconscious?"

"Uhm… asleep? Out cold? Comatose? Knocked the _fuck out_?" Stacie lists, ticking off a finger for every synonym. "I could go on, but I think you get the picture. Yeah, I totally found you on the way back from Aca-Initiation Night, lying beneath a tree in front of the Business and Economics building. _Pretty_ sure you were trying to use a pinecone for a pillow…"

Beca unconsciously reaches for her face, feeling for any indentations or splinters left behind. "Oh, that… really explains nothing at all," she breathes, cringing awkwardly at the whole ordeal. "But thank you for taking me in and not leaving me out to be kidnapped, or whatever. That would have really sucked…"

"No problem," Stacie assures, "We're Bellas now! That means we're like sisters, so we gotta watch each other's back, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Right," Beca nods, with a grin that's half-grimace. "Sisters…"

"Speaking of Bellas, we've got practice at nine," the taller brunette reminds, as she slowly peels back the sheets. The action causes Beca's face to erupt into a brilliant shade of red, an impromptu portrayal of Mt. Vesuvius as she stumbles from the bed, dropping to the floor with a heavy thud.

"Bellas practice, yes! Of course," she exclaims with false enthusiasm. Hand held protectively over her eyes, Beca fumbles blindly for the door, arm outstretched in search of salvation. She runs first into the closet, and then the desk, apologizing profusely along the way until she finally manages to find the door knob and let herself out.

"See you later!" Stacie calls, as the door slams shut behind her.

"Oh my god, what is happening to my life?" Beca groans, as she staggers down the hall, wracking her brain for some sense of clarity - _anything_ to enlighten her on the previous night's events. Her memory is crystal clear right up until the point she had dropped Jesse off at his dorm, handing his boneless form over to the shy but sweet Benji. Anything beyond that is incomprehensible, mere snippets of sights and sounds that - when put together - paints a picture best likened to that of a Picasso; which is to say, completely abstract and no help to her at all.

"Fuck, I'll figure this out later," she grumbles, as she reaches her own dorm, surprised to find that she and Stacie are floormates, with their rooms located only on opposite ends of the building. How had she never seen the other girl before? Deciding she had enough mysteries to solve as is, Beca dismisses the thought and shuffles tiredly into the room, ignoring the startled expression on Kimmy Jin's face as she falls atop her bed in an exhausted heap.

"Stop staring," Beca mumbles a minute later, face pressed snugly into her pillow (an _actual_ pillow this time, and not someone else's chest - _she made sure of it_ ).

"You used the door," she states, bluntly.

"Yeah, so?"

"You _never_ use the door," Kimmy Jin declares, sounding equal parts bored and unimpressed. "What's wrong, white girl?"

"Do you actually care?" she asks, lifting her head ever so slightly, peering at her roommate through doubtful eyes.

"No," the other girl curtly replies, "But I thought it'd better to ask, and deal with it on my own terms, than have you rant to me uninvited."

Beca's lips part to reply, a sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue, when she's interrupted by the pounding of a fist on their door. She and Kimmy Jin lock eyes, silently debating over who will get up and answer it, when Chloe's voice wafts cheerfully into the room, singing a greeting that has Beca - reluctant as she is - scrambling to let her in, lest she upset their neighbors.

"Jesus, Chloe! Can you be any louder?" she hisses, only to slap a hand atop the redhead's mouth as she grins playfully, inhaling deeply to no doubt prove that _yes_ , she can be louder. "That was rhetorical," Beca proclaims, yanking her into the room where they could talk more privately (Kimmy Jin not included). "What are you even doing here? It's like _seven_ in the morning."

"I know!" Chloe nods, in a manner the freshman believes far too lively for this early in the day. "I just wanted to make sure that you woke up in time for practice, and that you'd have enough time to get ready. I know you tend to oversleep - _don't you dare deny it!_ \- and Aubrey is a real taskmaster when it comes to punctuality. Plus, I wanted to see if you might come to breakfast with me? I thought we could go to that diner we went to last time."

As if on cue, Beca's stomach growls like a beast demanding to be fed, so loudly that even Kimmy Jin - who had been pointedly ignoring the two - raises her brow in callous surprise. Scratching her cheek, the shorter Bella coughs and murmurs, "I guess you know my weakness."

Chloe laughs brightly, nudging her teasingly as she replies, "It's really not that hard to figure out."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighs, moving around to gather her things. "Anyway, give me like twenty minutes to shower, change, brush my teeth… all that stuff, and whatever. You can hang out here if you want."

"Sure! I'll just wait he-..." Kimmy Jin glares, and Chloe quickly corrects herself, "I'll be in the lobby when you're ready."

* * *

True to her word, Beca emerges from the stairwell twenty minutes later, a bag slung casually over her shoulder. She's freshly washed and dressed, her dark hair still damp, tied back in a half braid with the fringe teased out. Chloe moves to greet her, slipping her arm casually through Beca's, who startles momentarily at the contact.

"Hey," she grins shyly, "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"No worries! I was just emailing one of my professors about an upcoming paper, so I had something to kill the time with," Chloe informs, leading the younger student out the exit and down the sidewalk towards the main avenue. "Anyway, what did you think of initiation ight? Did you have fun at the party? I tried looking for you again after our first talk, but I couldn't find you anywhere."

"Oh, yeah… it was, uh, it was _interesting_ ," she explains, deciding to keep her personal opinions on their cult like rituals to herself, "And I didn't stay too long at the party… actually, I left early with a friend. He was pretty wasted by the time we arrived, so I took him back to his dorm and left him with his roommate. After that, I… well, honestly, I don't really know what I did after that, but I know I didn't make it back."

"Looks like he wasn't the only one to have too much to drink," the ginger laughs, as they make their way down the road. "Sounds like you completely blacked out."

"Yeah," Beca murmurs, feigning a chuckle. "Too much to drink I guess." Though she knows that isn't the case, it's by far the easiest and most logical explanation for her lack of memory. The remainder of their walk is spent in idle chit chat, varying in topic from classes, to music, to the latest puppy video Chloe had seen online; the senior does most of the talking, but Beca doesn't mind, preferring to listen and give input when required, and generally content - one might even say happy - to simply have her company.

They arrive at the diner a short ten minutes later, announcing their entrance with muffled laughter over a Vine Chloe insists that Beca watch. The hostess leads them to a booth by the window at their request, and they shuffle in on opposite sides of the table as they're handed their menus, with a promise that their waitress will be there momentarily to take their orders. The first few minutes are spent in relative silence, both girls looking over the food options; a short time later, they place their order with the server, and settle in to wait it out, sitting together in a companionable fashion.

For a while, they stare outside and people watch, making a game of it as they invent stories and backgrounds for those that pass. They're still getting to know one another, but it's fun and lighthearted, an easy way to learn about the other without pressure or expectations, or the usual questions involved on such occasions. Eventually, their food is brought out, and Beca ravenously attacks her plate, both to Chloe's amusement and chagrin.

"You've, uh… you've got a little something right there," she says, pointing to the brunette's mouth, where a scrap of egg dangles loosely. Beca blushes, murmuring an apology as she swipes at it with the back of her hand, only to completely miss her target. Chloe snickers softly and reaches up with a napkin, snatching the offending morsel from her lips and dabbing it clean. "Got it!"

"Thanks," Beca grins gratefully, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Happy to help," Chloe beams, taking up her fork and digging into her own plate. "But here's a thought… why not slow down, and actually _taste_ your food? I'm pretty sure we humans, as a species, have evolved enough and advanced beyond the stage of the hunter-gatherer, so I don't think you really need to worry about your food running off any time soon."

" _Ha_ , _ha_ ," she drawls, sarcastically. Her face twists with mock displeasure as she stabs a slice of ham and lifts it deliberately towards her lips, tearing off a chunk with her teeth and making a show out of chewing her food. "Oh, yeah! That's _so_ much better," Beca says, as she finally swallows the bite. "Can't believe what I've been missing out on. Thank you, you've… you've changed my life."

"You don't have to be such a brat about it," Chloe scoffs, kicking her gently beneath the table. Beca smirks around her next mouthful, earning herself another (harder) kick, which she feigns injury to with a childish pout. "Don't even try that one with me. I know you can take it just as well as you dish it."

"Because I'm a badass?" she asks, "Protected by my… what did you call it again? Oh, yeah - my _wall_ of badassery?"

"Shut up," the ginger retorts, "You know what I meant to say! I mean…" she pauses, almost hesitating before she asks, "You _do_ know what I meant, right? Like, you know I was one hundred percent sincere last night when I said I wanted to know you better, and all that other stuff."

"No, I-I totally know," Beca replies, stumbling awkwardly over her words as her confidence wanes, and she withdraws into the safety her shell. "I believe you when you say that."

"Okay, and… and what about you?" Chloe presses, cautiously. "Did you mean it? When you said you felt it too… the connection, that is… and how you wanted the same, t-to be _friends_ , and everything."

Beca gulps and flounders desperately for the right thing to say, drowning in her social inexperience as her mouth flaps open and close, struggling to form proper words. "Chloe, I have to be honest," she eventually gets out, "I didn't have many friends growing up, and none that I could ever consider very close. I've always sort of been the odd one out, and so it… it's _difficult…_ for me to sort of comprehend the idea that anyone would willingly go out of their way to try and get to know me - the _real_ me.

"The real me, who, truthfully, I haven't quite figured out myself. And I can't say I have much personal experience or knowledge in what it means to be a friend… the kind of friends you want us to be, but I can admit to feeling this weird sort of attachment to you that I don't get with other people. I _do_ want us to be friends, and I want us to be close and to know you better… I just don't know if I'll be any good at it…"

Chloe doesn't know whether or not to be heartbroken over Beca's confession of loneliness, or thrilled at being given the chance to be the remedy for it. She instead settles for something a little in between, reaching across the table to lay her hand atop the younger woman's, warmth blossoming in her chest as Beca slowly rotates her wrist and shyly lets her palm rest in her own.

"Friendship isn't easy for anyone, even for those of us who are more… social or interactive. It takes time, patience, and dedication to make it work. But I can assure you," Chloe smiles, eyes locking with the DJ, "you're off to a really great start."

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	8. On Three

**A/N: I'm a terrible person, I know, and I'm sorry. Life has been pretty hectic as of late, and I'm not fairing too well in terms of writing motivation... for like anything. I do have another account that I've been messing around on, but trust me when I say that I've been even less productive on there than I have on this. But, Pitch Perfect was on TV last night, which sort of kicked me into gear for this fic. I can't say we make much progression in terms of plot, but I hope that, at the very least, it can give you a laugh!**

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 **Chapter 8: On Three**

"Okay, sopranos in the front and altos in the back!"

Beca glances up from where she, Fat Amy, and Cynthia Rose stand, mingling around the wall framed with pictures of former Bellas. Aubrey and Chloe stand front and center of the auditorium, with the blonde looking every bit the part of a wartime General as she orders her troops into their seats, hands clasped stiffly behind her back. As the newest recruits settle in, she marches forward and lifts the one remaining chair, setting it aside with an air of contempt.

"As you can see, Kori is no longer with us-..." she begins tersely, only to be interrupted by a loud, startled cry.

"Oh my god, that's terrible!" Amy gasps, her horrified cry drowning out the senior Bella's following words. "But we just saw her last night! How the hell'd she go?"

Aubrey is momentarily taken aback, her face a mask of incredulity as she attempts to process the Aussie's unexpected outburst. "Wait, what?" she asks, brows scrunched in confusion. "What, _what-_... oh my god, no! No, no, no! She's not _dead_ , Amy! Why would you even think that?"

"Well, when someone is 'no longer with us' that usually means they've kicked the bucket," Amy explains carefully, "Y'know… another one bites the dust? Assumed room temperature? Sleeping with the fishes? Knocking on-..."

"No, I know what it means! I just… that's, t-that's not what I meant," Aubrey sighs, the wind taken from her already limp sails. "If you had just let me finish, I was _going_ to say that last night Kori was Treble-boned, and has been dis-invited from the Bellas."

Despite her general indifference towards the group thus far, Beca finds herself genuinely taken aback by the announcement. "Wait, that oath was serious?" she asks, voice laced with disbelief.

"Dixie Chicks serious!" Aubrey declares, leaving the brunette too confused to properly respond. What did that even mean? "You can fool around with whoever you want," she goes on, "Just _not_ with a Treble."

"That's not gonna be easy," Stacie chimes in, pointing towards her crotch. "He's a hunter."

"You call it a dude?" Beca questions, both amused and shocked at the information. Stacie turns around in her seat, glancing back at the smaller freshman, and winks playfully; memories of that morning come flooding back, her cheeks glowing red, and Beca waves frantically at her to turn back around.

"Stacie," Aubrey chides, in a tone often reserved for unruly children, "The Trebles don't respect us, and if we let them penetrate us, we are giving them our power."

As if in unison, every face in the room cringes, and not a set of legs remains uncrossed as Amy claims, "Not a good enough reason to use the word _penetrate_."

Ignoring her second interruption, Aubrey paces towards the far left, casual yet with purpose as she pointedly stares at a now nervous looking Mary Elise. "So, does anyone here have anything they'd like to confess?"

The bespectacled girl fidgets anxiously beneath her stare, squirming uncomfortably in her chair for several moments as she attempts to play it cool. "It was an accident!" she eventually blurts out, "And I-..."

"Turn in your scarf and go," the captain informs, cutting off whatever apology or words of regret the other girl might have said. Mary Elise hesitates, mouth miming silently as she fights to deny the inevitable. Ultimately, she retrieves the yellow scarf from her bag and quickly deposits it in the blonde's outstretched hand, too ashamed to say or do much more. "Take your chair," Aubrey informs, as she motions for the woman to stand up and leave.

"Slut," Amy coughs, as she drags her chair away, the legs screeching - painful and awkward - across the floorboards.

"Was that necessary?" Beca demands, as Mary Elise's whimpering cries fade away in the background.

"This is war, Beca!" she asserts, slamming her fist into the palm of her hand. "And it is _my_ job to make sure that my soldiers are prepped at go time with three kick ass songs, sung and choreographed to perfection! And there are only four months until Regionals, so if you have a problem with the way I run the Bellas, then you should just-..."

Abruptly, she's cut off by the sound of her own gagging, head lurching forward as everyone else instinctively leans back. Chloe, silent in her support until this time, pulls her swiftly to the side, hand laid reassuringly against her back as she whispers, "Don't stress, Aubrey! Relax! We don't want a repeat of what happened last year."

Though she tries to remain quiet, the auditorium is built to carry sound, and her words echo questioningly in each Bellas minds. Lily shyly raises her hand, murmuring softly, "Uh, what happened last year?"

In typical fashion, no one hears a word she says.

Huffing, the Asian tries again, more loudly as she quietly repeats, "What happened last year?" And then, even more quietly, "And… do you guys want to see a dead body?"

She sighs with disappointment when no one responds.

Ten minutes later, Beca wonders if seeing a dead body may have been the better alternative to what she's seeing now, because, like - _holy fuck_ , where did it all _come_ from? She watches in morbid fascination as Aubrey projectile vomits onto the front row of last year's ICCA audience, the terrified shrieks of the crowd only amplified by the howls of laughter and repulsed cries of the Bellas that surround her now. Though she can't claim to be Aubrey's biggest fan, the DJ feels a twinge of sympathy for the senior; as hilariously unfortunate as it is, she wouldn't wish that sort of embarrassment on even her most hated enemy - to live forever in viral video infamy.

"Ooh, click on guy pukes on cat!" Stacie pleads, reaching over their shoulders to point at another video.

"Enough!" Aubrey bellows, face colored cherry red. "It happened, it's over - moving on!" Her eyes narrow into slits, glaring heatedly at the group as if daring one of them to contradict her as the younger Bellas go scrambling back into their proper seats. "Okay, first things first," she says, more calmly, "We need a vocal percussionist. Does anyone here know how to beatbox?"

Amy perks up almost instantly, raising her hand as she stands proudly. "Yeah, I do!" she proclaims, strutting her way towards the front. "I'm the best beatboxer in Tasmania," she declares, before adding cheekily, "... with _hair_."

"I'll give you a demo," she continues, clearing her throat as she lifts a fist to her mouth in imitation of a mic. " _Dogs and cats, and dogs and cats, and whoop whoop!"_ She makes a weird series of noises, gurgling somewhere from the back of her throat, " _pew bow bow bow, dogs and cats, and… PLAAAA EXPLOSION!"_

Beca nearly does the impossible, choking on a mixture of air and her own saliva as she stifles her laughter, eyes tearing with silent mirth as she watches several other Bellas leap at the sudden eruption of noise, while Lily's face is a blank slate of emotion, and Cynthia Rose grimaces, looking downright offended by the whole ordeal.

" _Powww…"_ Amy persists softly, despite the lack of enthusiasm for her performance, " _... explosion!… all-the-animals-are-dead…"_

"Okay, so!" Aubrey jumps in, laying her hand gently atop the Aussie's and slowly lowering it away. "That would be a no."

' _A_ hard _no,'_ Beca silently agrees, as Amy shrugs nonchalantly and returns to her seat; though the larger blonde's beatboxing is akin to nails on a chalkboard, she'll give her credit for the interesting improv, and grins as she holds out her fist for the other freshman to bump.

"We will practice every day for at least two hours, seven days a week, and I trust you will add your own cardio."

Beca, still goofing off with Amy, feels the smile slip from her lips as Aubrey's instructions reach her ears. "Why cardio?" she balks, mouth agape; not that it's necessarily an issue for _her_ , it's still a ridiculous expectation for a singing choir.

"Yeah, no!" Amy concurs, waving her hand in the air. "Don't put me down for cardio."

Aubrey scowls at the two, but dismisses their comments as she strives to push through introductions and get to the real meat and bones of their practice. "Moving on," she commands once again, handing a stack of papers to Chloe to distribute amongst the girls, "This is a list of all the songs we've performed, and you will notice that we _only_ do songs made famous by women."

Beca takes one look at the compilation and notices far more than just that. "There's nothing from this century on here," she scoffs, thumbing through the pages.

"Because we don't stray from tradition," Aubrey replies, unwavering in her resolve. "Our focus is on perfecting our repertoire, which is why we're the best all female group in the country." Flipping her white board, she grabs a pointer stick and begins to tick off all their tasks for the day. "Now, let's start with some vocal warm ups, practice scales, followed by arpeggios, and then work our way up to choreography. Any questions?"

Stacie's hand flies into the air. "Yeah, I think you said spaghetti-o's and I'm _starving_! When's lunch?"

"Arpeggios," the blonde captain repeats.

"Like… the island?" she asks, hesitantly.

"That's an archipelago," Aubrey corrects, her patience clearly fading. "I'm talking about arpeggio."

"So, the _artist_?" she tries again, voice rising in question.

"No, that's… that's Michelangelo. I'm saying arpeggio. _AR-PEG-GI-O,_ " she sounds out. "The singing of a sequence of chords in ascending or descending succession - any of that ring a bell?"

A look of understanding finally passes Stacie's face. "Ohh," she nods, before turning around, face hidden behind a hand as she mouths, " _I still don't get it?"_ to the others.

"When _is_ lunch, though?" Amy inquires, and Aubrey looks like she might start to cry.

"God help me," she pleads.

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"Okay, I'm calling it!"

With a collective sigh of relief, the Bellas - led by Chloe - drop from their choreographed poses and hobble their way to the bleachers to gather their things, hoping to get out of there before Aubrey has a change of heart. Beca, having kept her thoughts to herself throughout the majority of practice, chooses then to speak up, cautiously approaching the senior captain as she asks, "Hey, Aubrey? Did we just learn the same choreography from that video?"

The blonde spares only a momentary glance in return, snatching a stack of papers from the piano, which she dutifully hands out to the surrounding women. "Okay, don't forget to pick up your performance schedules," she reminds, waving the forms in the air. "We have a gig next week! That's right - _next week_!"

"It's Sigma Beta Theta's annual Fall Mixer," Chloe explains helpfully, as she sidles up beside her co-leader.

"Okay, hands in Bellas!" Aubrey instructs, as she and the redhead lay their hands atop one another's. "Hands in, aca-bitches!" she screeches, when no one moves. Instantly, the remaining women thrust their hands into the circle, sharing scared, anxious looks as they finally do as told. "Sing ahh-..."

" _Ahhhhh~!"_ Amy belts, enthusiastically.

"No, no, no!" she scolds, shaking her head. "That's actually on three, Fat Amy. _On three._ One… two…"

It's a mess, a complete, and utter mess; no one is in sync as they thoroughly butcher the entire thing, much to their leader's ever growing frustrations. Her eyes are hardened, lips pulled thin in a grimace, and if looks could kill, Aubrey would have just committed mass murder. Feigning a smile, she more cheerfully declares, "Okay, we will work on that first thing next time!"

Beca shuffles away with her fellow freshman, hoping to make a quick escape, and nearly withers on the spot as she's requested to stay behind "Sup?" she asks, as she makes a slow, hesitant return.

"You know you'll have to take those ear monstrosities out for the Fall Mixer," says Aubrey, indicating to the younger woman's numerous piercings.

"You really don't like me, do you?" Beca surmises, a half amused smirk teasing her lips as she takes in the disdainful look upon the blonde's face. She had noticed it almost immediately upon their first meeting, the way Aubrey would look down at her, as though she were some inferior being, simply for the way she looked and how she carried herself.

"I don't like your attitude," she states, curtly.

"You don't even know me," the DJ retorts, shaking her head; she doesn't know why, but she's somehow disappointed. This Aubrey is a far cry from the person Chloe makes her out to be, not nearly as understanding, nor as kind as she'd been led to believe.

"I know you have a toner for Jesse," she accuses harshly, eyes narrowed.

Beca blinks. "What?" she gasps. What the hell was a toner? Printer ink?

"A toner… a musical boner," Aubrey explains, "I saw you leave with him at Hood night, and while I caught Kori and Mary Elise in the act, I don't have solid proof against you - _yet_. But I _know_ you spent the night with him, and-..."

"Actually, she spent the night with me."

Beca's head snaps to the left, and she can literally _feel_ herself break out into a cold, awkward sweat as Stacie saunters her way towards them, a smug, playful grin on her lips as she drapes an arm around the shorter brunette. Leaning closer to the two, she gives a conspiratorial glance around the room, as if to make sure no one's listening, and then whispers gleefully, "I totally made her _scream_ this morning."

"Oh my god, Stacie! No!" Beca wails, her face flaming red as she buries it into the palm of her hand. "You're not supposed to tell anyone!"

"Oh, _now_ you're being self-conscious?" she grins, cradling the smaller Bella's face against her chest. "I don't remember you being so shy when you were motorboating these babies _earlier…_ "

Beca pries her way out of Stacie's generous bosom, frantically attempting to explain herself to the equally embarrassed Aubrey, who can only stare at the two in dumbfounded silence. "It's not like that!" she cries, beseechingly. "I mean, yeah… w-we shared a bed, and I guess we slept together, but… but not like that! I wasn't fully aware of what was happening, or… I mean, I like… okay, I-I _may_ have… _nuzzled_ her chest, and she was naked, but-..."

"Oh, no! _No, no, no!"_ Aubrey shouts, desperately waving her hands at Beca to stop. "I don't want to hear the details! It… it's, it's, it's…" If Bece weren't so mortified, she thinks she'd find the senior's lack of coherency comical; instead, she can only pray for her death to be swift and merciful, for the ground to swallow her whole and never spit her back out. "I-I'm sorry, I just-... I mean, if you're attracted to the fairer sex, by all means, you love who you love. We… uh, we the Bellas, as an organization, don't discriminate based on sexual preference or who you choose to let into your pants - Trebles not included, of course. So long as it doesn't become a distraction during rehearsals or in competition, it's… it's a complete non-issue. Are… are we good on that?"

For all her strength and speed, Beca is powerless to respond, merely squeaking along in agreement as Stacie nods and throws Aubrey a mock salute. "Aye, aye, Cap'n!" she pledges, tossing in a flirtatious wink for added effect. The older Bella masks her choke of surprise behind a hacking cough, excusing the two brunettes with a dismissive wave as she turns to her board and busies herself with cleaning it.

"Come on, _babe_ ," Stacie grins, slipping her hand into Beca's. The shorter girl falters at the touch, but her mind is blank, eyes glazed over, and all she can do is follow along in a stupefied daze.

Once outside, away from the stifling confines of their awkward conversation, she finally seems to gather her bearings, yanking away from the other freshman with a harsh tug. "Oh my fuck!" she squawks, indignantly, cheeks ablaze with the color pink. "What… what just happened? What did you _do_? Now Aubrey is going to think-… auggh!" She staggers over the words and their implications, mind running a mile a minute, filled with apprehension and doubt.

"Whoa, Beca, _chill_ ," Stacie chastises, laying a placating hand atop her narrow shoulders. "Hakuna your tatas, alright? I just saved your _ass_ back there, and Aubrey's probably so humiliated, she'll lay off your case for at least the rest of the week. I mean, really, you could try saying thank you?" She sounds annoyed, but appears amused, and Beca isn't sure which one she truly is, but guilt sits at the forefront of her conscious, and though she's mortified by the whole ordeal, she knows she owes Stacie for bailing her out _again_.

A defeated sigh escapes her lips, and she attempts to convey as much sincerity into her voice as she apologizes, "Look, I'm sorry. You just really caught me off guard, and I'm usually a very private person, so I don't like having my business shared with others unless absolutely necessary. I didn't mean to spaz out on you like that, and I really am grateful for all your help. Not just now, but for last night too. I didn't really thank you properly this morning for taking care of me, so… thanks. I really _do_ appreciate you looking out for me like that, and I just want you to know that it… it means a lot."

Stacie's smile is fond, and her eyes affectionate as she readily accepts Beca's apology. "Don't worry about it, I wasn't even mad. Just, y'know… try and loosen up a bit," she suggests. "We're not all out to get you!" She smacks a kiss against Beca's cheek with a playful "mwah!" and ruffles her hair before waving goodbye, leaving the shorter girl to stare after her in stunned silence.

Beca wonders if it's something in the water at Barden, or if there's magic juju in the air, but she's never come across a place where so many people were willing to go out of their way to help and befriend her. First Chloe, then Jesse, and now Stacie; never before had she had anyone - let alone _three_ people - so happy and eager to watch her back, without expecting anything in return. It was a strange, but not wholly unpleasant, feeling to say the least; something she thinks she might even be able to get used to if it persists.

A small smile creases her lips at the thought, but she reminds herself not to get _too_ attached to the idea; she's learnt time and time again - her own family as the greatest example - that even people you care about and love can still let you down, and are not above disappointing or hurting you. Still, she thinks it wouldn't be such a bad thing to expand her social circle, and to try and at least make friends with those she interacts with on a daily basis; after all, if she's going to be forced into spending so much time with them, she may as well attempt to get along.

Resolving to at least try and make herself more approachable, Beca readjusts the strap of her bag and begins to head towards the quad, thinking she'll get some mixing done while soaking up the sunshine. She makes it no further than a yard before Chloe comes barreling after her, calling her name as she jogs quickly to catch up. Pausing mid-step, she turns and waits, brow raised in a quizzical expression as the ginger hurries after her.

"Hey!" she greets, somewhat breathlessly. "What was that all about? I've never seen Aubrey so flustered before…"

Beca's cheeks, which have only just begun to cool, heat up in another blush as she runs an anxious hand through her scalp. "It was just a really big misunderstanding," she murmurs, shyly averting her gaze. "Aubrey was, uh… well, she was accusing me of sleeping with Jesse, but then Stacie came up and said I spent the night with her. Which is true, but… not in the way she made it seem."

There's mischief in Chloe's eyes as she grins and asks, "And how did she make it seem?"

"You saw her grope herself continuously throughout practice," Beca scowls, "You were right there, next to her. You tried to _correct_ her, and Stacie only touched herself _more_. So how _else_ do you think she made it seem?"

"She made it seem like you two had sex," Chloe states bluntly, much to the younger girl's dismay. "No wonder Aubrey kept mumbling how it ' _explains all the flannel'_ , or whatever..."

"She said what!?" Beca cries, incensed by the blonde's baseless assumptions, and stereotyping. "That's not… flannel is _comfortable_ , and i-it's warm, and… I get cold easily!"

"I'm teasing," Chloe reassures, nudging her gently with her elbow. "But if you two weren't "doin' the do", how _did_ you end up in Stacie's room?"

"That one I'm still trying to figure out myself," Beca shrugs, "Like I said earlier, I don't really remember much after I dropped Jesse off at his dorm. Stacie said she found me sleeping under a tree on the way back, so she took me in for the night. That's basically all I know."

"Remind me to keep my eye on you during the next aca-party," Chloe muses, half-seriously. "I don't think this wee lil freshman is quite ready to handle her jiggle juice without adult supervision."

"Hey!" she protests, bristling with indignation. "For starters I _am_ an adult, and am fully capable of watching out for myself. Secondly, don't think I'm some lightweight who knocks out after the first beer… I could drink you under the table, seven ways til Sunday, and _then_ some."

"Big talk for such a little person," the redhead counters with a wink, earning a huff of irritation from her companion.

"Y'know what? Just for that, I won't be walking you to class," she quips, crossing her arms in a show of defiance.

"Wait, you were going to walk me to class?" Chloe asks, perking up at the offhanded comment. "Aww, you can't just say something like that and then not do it!"

"Yeah, well _you_ can't just make comments about my size and expect me to play nice," Beca replies, stubbornly. "So what're you gonna do about it?"

"But I was only kidding!" Chloe whines, lower lip jutting in a pout as she tugs gently at the DJ's sleeve. "I didn't mean it! Walk me to class… pleaaaase!"

"Nope, you're on your own Beale," she declares, shuffling away from the now sulking redhead, who stares after the retreating freshman with sad, doe-like eyes. ' _Don't look back,'_ she tells herself, becoming an internal mantra as she hears the way Chloe sniffles, and stomps her foot petulantly against the pavement. ' _Don't look back… don't look back… don't loo-...'_

She glances back, and curses loudly.

…

Five minutes later, Beca finds herself arm in arm with a gleeful Chloe, the triumphant grin spread across dimpled cheeks _almost_ enough to make up for the fact that, in less than half a semester, she's become completely and utterly whipped. Almost.

' _But then again,'_ she thinks, as the senior shyly slips her hand into her own, ' _it's not a bad trade off.'_

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 **Please leave a review, and let me know what you think of the fic so far! Thanks for reading!**


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